When We Were Young
by GothamsCat
Summary: Taking place in the series Gotham, an anthology story based upon the young kids of Bruce Wayne (David Mazouz) and Selina Kyle (Camren Bicondova), along with the rest of the cast. Stories range from Season One to the current season depicting strong scenes for mature audiences. When We Were Young dives into the deep memories and mistakes of people who were kids once upon a time.
1. A Shot in the Dark

_*Season One, Episode One*_

 _*Tomorrow by Daughter*_

On Fear

It is a shot that screams into the blackest night of the longest day. A shot that disrupts the eerie silence created by the one known as FEAR. The sound of its fire causing FEAR to react, to jump in the skin draped bone and body of the living it chooses to sit inside. So perfectly nestled into a tiny corner in the husk of a soul, giving them symptoms of sweat and heavy breathing with an elevated heart rate. Racking against the major, most important organ with its fists so violent, banging on the heart in rapid tempo, slamming it against the rib cage causing bits to flake off into the stomach. FEAR making someone become so weak in the knees they could easily fall over into helplessness-feeling paralyzed and trapped in a particular situation where FEAR would then grow.

Attacking those old and young FEAR seizes the body all its own, twisting the whole brain into exaggerated yet sometimes realistic hallucinations. And while some remain tall and seemingly unphased by its presence, it is still there, and it lingers in the shadows, like the shadow of a body. Smiling a wicked grin for nothing is more helpless than a man who believes he is unafraid.

A man, in fact, is where it began. The shot that ran out of its hiding place and screamed into a sky where no one could hear and no one was listening. A singular man created by FEAR unknowingly among other people who were far lesser in the single moment where FEAR took a life. Stole two under the dead of night when all the calm and quiet after its deadly accomplice cut through the air like a knife and sliced the skin and body through. A clean shot under a canvas so starless.

FEAR stepped inside the heavy boots of the man, crushing gravel under the bottom of his shoes and causing the unseen, little mice and insects to run away in terror. FEAR who raised the hand with a gun and FEAR who spoke out into the emptiness of the four of them. But the Waynes stood TALL. Yes, it was Martha who eyes sprang first with the terror in her sight as she cradled her son close to protect him. And it was the son who was almost equal to his mother, staring in direct focus of FEAR; but it was Thomas who stood poised as always-trying to be the good husband and father to resolve the problem that would soon find its way to crumbling the alley beneath them and sending the entire life of his son spinning out of control. In that exact moment of single stillness right before the sound of shock-FEAR reached out with a cold hand and dipped into the body of each of them, reaching down deep until he got to the chest cavity where he wrapped numb fingers around their hearts and squeezed. Scared, yes, the fear had made them afraid. Terrified even. Yet they stood, and they faced the fear with their eyes, never quaking under the pressure while having no trouble in the effort to speak. To reason with FEAR.

However, FEAR could not be reasoned with. And it was in that split second before the sound that would end their life, the Waynes knew it was over. They could see it in the eyes belonging to FEAR, and the barrel of the gun into the deep black where the bullet lay hiding. Sleeping, and waiting for the moment to strike. The could see it, the end of that gun, the end of their lives and the one who stood to side like a shadow So much like an apparition, hiding dark like a shadow, but with skin as pale as the moon herself. She stood there tall and smiling, waiting for Thomas and Martha to join her in their final seconds; waiting as they looked at her, as they looked at the man, as they were looking into the eyes of FEAR. Just knowing that there was no way out, but hoping there was a way to spare their son. It was not his time yet, and the man in the hood had not come for him.

After that seemingly slow, but quick second, the bullet sounded, screaming against the peace and tearing against the wind right into the one who stood the most brave. Thomas felt the bullet chew through his system before residing in his heart, felt the wet street on his back as he fell backwards and the wet, dampening of his clothes where his heart was. FEAR has stolen his breath but kept him alive enough to hear the sound of his dying wife when she faced the twin bullet hiding in the barrel of the gun just for her. She too slipped from her son as their eyes carried her to the bottom of a dark place where she fell away and was gone instantly. Not having a moment to take a final breath or feel the damping of her own clothes from the chest.

Bruce looked straight into the man with a frozen expressing as his breath was becoming squeezed in his throat. As FEAR looked deep back into his eyes he raised the gun for a final time and contemplated ending such a short, twelve-year-old life. The man whose body FEAR had taken prisoner retaliated, for he could see something in the boy's eyes that FEAR was blind to. Something good… pure and innocent. Something needed. Hope. And when he knew, FEAR knew too and together they lowered the gun in still, shaking terror and ran out into the street…

He waited until the numbness of his body had subsisted. Using everything within him fast to shake both his parents in the hopes he could wake them. In the hopes they were somehow still there with him. Their bodies shook from his hands, and their blood soaked onto his palms as he smeared the red deeper into their clothes, not realizing he was almost bathing himself in the tragedy that had just defined him and taken him prisoner. Wanting to speak for just a second when his body ruptured at the sight of his father's fading eyes meeting his. Unknowing that his father had been watching the cat from the scaffolding, still in shock, still shaking ever so little but falling away so quickly. He was able to reach the eyes of his son that where overfull of sadness and desperation, but he was not able to say a final goodbye as he fell away into the darkness of death, and into the guiding arms of the pale woman and his wife. Martha sobbed and Thomas asked their guidance if Bruce was going to be alright. She said yes before leading them away.

Bruce found strength inside of himself to stand-gazing down in the endless paint of red on the palms of his hands and the truth that was laid out before him. Sprawled at his feet over the back streets of Gotham city wearing nothing but the bodies of a man and his wife, appearing with the faces of his mother and father, though nothing more now but an empty husk of skeleton bones and skin.

Knowing the complete terror that he was alone his legs gave out because FEAR, dressed in the body of a man with no face, a couple of bullets, the sound of gunshots, and the long retreaded ghosts of his family. A scream escaped his throat that he would not remember but would always hear in his dreams when the lights when out. A scream he had no control over that was loud and angry, shaking his whole body ragged. Loud enough that the ravens abandoned their posts in their own terror. Yet somehow, there was not a single soul walking the streets that night who could hear him. And even if they had, they would not come to his aid because they did not care. Nothing more than a child's cry being drowned away by the sounds of city sirens and noisey cars with mindless, dumb chatter taken on by the people.

He cried like a baby that only a mother and father could sooth… the tears dripping down his cheeks in fat, wet globs that his parents would not reach up and wipe away. Nor would they reach up with corpse fingers growing cold to get the snot dribbling down his nose, over his lips and to his chin. He wanted to scream again, but the cry was in his head only and no longer happening.

However, it was _that_ scream she could still hear all the way through the streets, that sent her running. The scream of someone in complete pain beyond any kind of repair. The kind that can break glass and rip houses apart, making even people with the best hearing turn deaf. Never before had she heard something so devastating in her life. Never before had she been dispensed with so much responsibility in a short period of time in the course of an overwhelming moment. Still in a shock she could not shake she ran into people wondering why they could not hear the boy scream; crashing in each and every one of them with such force she was sure to knock them both over but finding her feet quick enough to collide into the next one. Not even being bothered to tell them to "move it" since she had no more voice because FEAR too had stolen it away so sneakily. Leaving her huffing and puffing her way through the streets, pumping her feet as fast as they would take her and then pushing them to do more.

She did not want to leave him, yet Selina could not stay with him either because something terrible had happened and she was the only one reacting fast enough to do anything about it, so she ran. Her heart was pounding in her chest begging for her to stop but the determination of her mind overpowered, begging her to go faster even though she felt her lungs were going to collapse and she would soon join Thomas, Martha and Death. She was unknown to how far she ran, eyes scanning her blurry vision fast until she found a glowing sign that read "PAYPHONE." She stopped immediately, crashing into the closed door with such force she felt she might break it. The man on the inside jumped, scared almost to the point of urinating himself as the small girl burst into his private conversation of beginning phone sex with his mistress.

Selina screamed at him to get out like a crazy person, grabbing his coat with her dirty hands and shoving him out into the cold-cursing but too afraid to fight back. She slammed her thumb on the receiver, balancing the phone in one hand-thankful for her gloves-and then shoving her other hand deep into the corners of her jacket pocket for the last bit of change she had. Her hands felt something cold and round so she yanked the money free with such hurriedness that the coins jumped from her fingers onto the floor of the phonebooth. She bent down and scrambled for a least one quarter. Snatching it up as fast as possible she slipped it into the coin slot, punching the simple three numbers in as fast as she could.

There was a voice on the first ring.

"911, what is your emergency?"

Her breath was hot, swelling inside her throat to make her choke on words that were most important. Tears found there way into her eyes and she wiped them away trying to find air so she could breath.

"Hello?"

"The Wayans…" she choked, coughing back air. "Someone shot the Wayne's in the alley by the movie theater." She tried to be as exact as she could. Then she hung up and ran away again.


	2. A Hole in My Dreams

_"In my own turn_

 _I'm trying to reach out I know I'll get there soon_

 _There's a hole in the earth here_

 _And we're walking round the edges_

 _You were flaunting all your open wounds_

 _I can't express them better than you."_

Music by Daughter,

"A Hole In the Earth."

Bruce's Point of View

(A tie-in with "The Blade's Redemption (yet

To be published.)

The music sounds so loud in my ears, and it's the only thing I can hear above the high chatter of complete strangers accompanying the warehouse with me. A deep bass is pumping in and out from my chest, trembling my toes and fingers while making my skin vibrate--working with the lights and bodies jumping all around over the quivering floor. The energy is purely sensational; the music and feel and people on every single side of me. Emphatic, full-volumed sound mixed with an intense feeling that drowns out everything from the city. The noise, the talk, the crimes, the sirens, and the wails of the helpless is all nothing but distant ringing in the memories of the mind. And everything I feel is nothing but a deep exhilarating innervation pulsing in and out of every inch of my skin.

Hot, skin against skin, bumping alcohol soaked shoulders with my dance mates and friends who are as high at the nonexistent stars overhead, but it is something I no longer bother to trouble myself caring about. Just as I don't bother to care that I've consumed well over my weight and age in alcohol--and some of my friends are already well on their way to throwing up. I don't even have a clue about what I'm doing anymore but moving my limbs in such a jagged, flailing motion as I am overwhelmed with so much sensation and fake joy then anyone could ever ask for. The burning coated over my lips makes me forget… and sets me free.

My sight is blurry but the colors of the party remained clear pinks, blues and yellows spinning all around me. Flushing past in vivid swirls and blinding illumination. Faces change their shapes, and hands touch me all over but I can't be bothered to pull myself away--even if it feels wrong. I should be afraid, I should want to push past them and flee into the safety of my home for the way they make my body feel; but all I want to do is pull them closer and let them touch me in inappropriate places. And even though that frightens me, I am much too far away in the lights and the sound to care. Much too _high_ on the energy propelled from body to body with all my troubles falling through with every step I take, bouncing off the step of the next person.

Each drink of hard liquor is like salvation on my tongue. A poison that feeds desire and addiction swallowing up every regret I've ever had and all the faces of those I'm seeing floating away in the crowd. Every sip puts them further into my mind until I can't see them anymore. Burning at first but then falling down as easy as water itself. Taking my problems down with it and replacing them with the crazy want to do things I've never imagined doing before. Things that are so outside myself that almost make me not myself. I am a body, that is me, but the insides are all screwed up. Like meat in a meat grinder.

A girl--Grace, I think, comes up to me and puts her hands on my chest. Her mouth around mine in a second and we're kissing. Drunken, sloppy gestures of embrace that only escalate as the moments count beside us. I don't exactly know what I'm doing, but when she sticks her tongue past my lips the vodka coated inside my mouth figures out what to do when our tongues began dancing together as close as we are. I don't even think about any of it as her tongue overlaps mine and mine to her inside our lips--or the way her hands move against me, forcing us more together. The way I have to keep my eyes closed so I don't see her face, and the way I feel like I need another shot because my hands are against her bare shoulder blades shaking and afraid; it's like I am horribly aware but so far away from control. Out of control and unbalanced, the feel of Grace's arms around me and the flick of her tongue somehow being the only things to keep me steady.

Someone passes me another shot, someone I feel as though I know, but I'm too dizzy to register who they are or what they're giving me. But still, I put some distance between Grace's face and she gives me space wiping her cherry lips with the back of her hand. She mouths something beneath her wicked smile and before I'm able to ask what she said the DJ playing the music pops another bottle and the contents are spraying all over our faces like acid rain. Everyone starts to scream and holler with an overwhelming sense of exacerbation and soon enough I am joining with them. The rain soaks our clothes and turns us wet; I turn to my drink that is half filled and let it kiss me the way Grace had, its kiss beginning to overflow over the rim of the glass. Like the tap water in a tub filling the basin. Fast and hot until it's reached the very pinch on the edge, overflowing and spilling like a fire in the woods. Feeling better I finally open my eyes and stand in shock and fear. Grace is now gone and it is just I, standing alone in a wide circle of strangers. But they are not strangers actually… they are Alfred and Selina's mother, Maria, dancing together in a warm, passionate embrace. Jim and Lee are there too… Grace and Tommy are there too, and ten-year-old Ivy Pepper with a much older Bridgit Pike--kissing almost as Grace and I were. And Karen is standing there too somehow… her skin covered in the color of blue ice… She leans her chin on Bridgit's shoulder, begging for the same kind of attention. Alex… He too is standing there in the crowd with a familiar trail of blood running down his school shirt. My parents are there too--they are ignoring me and dancing close much like Maria and Alfred, but a bit more freely.

My lip is quivering and I try to take a drink to silence the faces and make them disappear again. I've failed to even notice that the music seems so far away now… One sip trails down my chin. Then another, missing my mouth more rapidly, trying to catch up quick with the first sip. The third time the glass falls from my fingers and smashes deliberately at my feet--shattering into deadly shards I'm sure someone could trip over and severely hurt themselves with. I look down to make some kind of gesture to remove the infraction--but I almost fall over and feel like I'm going to be sick. The translucent bit of drink in my glass has turned to thick stains of blood at my feet--spreading against the dirt on the floor.

I shut my eyes tight and press my palms against my temporal lobes, trying to block out the silence and the faces on my own. I open them foolishly and see the skeleton of Ra's mocking me. Mimicking the pain I inflicted on him over and over. I shut my eyes again, breathing heavy with my heart rate going so fast I think I might explode. I realize then that the wetness on my face and the tears in my eyes are not from the intoxication that had once graced the air, but from the tears in my eyes from crying. Hot, wet drops blocking my view… I sink to my knees in despair and the feeling of an utter failure--wipe the tears from my face but they just keep coming and coming until I feel a hand on my shoulder and come to the deep sorrow that I've never cried harder in my whole life. It is just a hand without a face or a person, I can see it in my mind's eye, but I am too afraid to know, but I wonder if it is Alfred. If it is my father, begging me to come to him. Maybe even Jim, pleading that I see the glorious light once again. It is a comfort… _yet when I open my eyes again, it is all diminished…_

 _"It's like an old ruin_

 _Your father's a liar while my father's lying down_

 _In a hole in the earth there_

 _And I'm scared I'll forget him_

 _I'm still haunted by those open wounds_

 _I won't express them truly to you."_

 _… there, lying on the ground in the blood from my glass, are my parents._ There arms and legs bent in such a fashion that is grotesque… their faces so white and their mouths open. My father lying like a man gone to such waste in the ground that has manifested beneath my fingers. Fresh dirt digging into my nails when I squeeze my palms into fists. Fresh blood seeping from their mouths and chest… I've failed. I know that now. I've always known how I failed them, and everyone who I am trying to forget…

How I hurt.

I scream. As loud and piercing as I can muster with all but my twelve-year-old boyish lungs; until I am so red in the face with the tears residing in my memories burning again and my throat turning raw. I am screaming so loud and yet I cannot hear myself. _I am screaming until a white light shines down on my family and I am screaming alone because little by little, the faces have started to fade away--bodies and all. Disappearing into the dark and making way for the light…_

 _"I have so much hurt inside me_

 _Friend make sense of me, friend make sense of me_

 _I have so much hurt inside me_

 _Friend make sense of me, friend make sense of me."_

 _I_ _scream_ until my I feel my heart might give out, but I find a hand to my chest and beg it to hold on just a little longer so I may scream some more. I scream for my parents, and I scream for the city. I scream for everyone else who has ever lost a life and I scream for every life I have ruined. I scream alone until a stranger comes from the bright light, grabs me by the shoulders and pulls me through the crowd.


	3. When My Blood Runs Red

_*Features mature scenes containing blood and self-mutilation that might be upsetting or triggering for some readers. Set after the events of "A Day in the Narrows," featuring Bruce's further downward spiral into the darkness.*_

The incident was at a party. The first time though, I was alone in the bathroom with my father's old razor and the sleeve of my sweater pushed up to my elbow. However, the party was like a new standing, warping the memory of the first time, making it seem almost innocent. When I first did it--alone in the bathroom with my father's razor, it was nothing but a couple scrapes across my skin. If you could call them that. It was strange, how my father's instrument had been so pure and clean. Untouched, as if he'd changed it out but never got a chance to use it before he passed. Like he shaved with the old one, scraping over the stubble of his face--nicked himself once and then noticed the razor needed a change. He must have finished up before changing it. Tossing the old one in the trash, which was taken out that day. Long gone now.

Some of my self-inflictions were deep but not the initial intention. I tried to do it deeply in the beginning, but I failed. I was scared and nervous and when the razor bit its teeth down upon me I had to pull back because it hurt. Because I could feel. Even as I told myself that a bullet to the chest hurt a hell of a lot worse than a deep cut. So I cut myself a little, just to try it. Dragging the silver teeth over my skin as normally as I could manage.

My skin licked its teeth and opened itself up so the colours could kiss another. The blood came up from my arm slowly, filling up like a sink before spilling over. It ran a trail over my forearm in red. Pooling a bit on the white marble of the bathroom sink. Alfred caught me shortly after that. I jumped, surprised and scared for getting caught doing something I know I shouldn't. The razor abandoned my fingers with equal fright, finding safety on the floor with a clang. Spitting blood in its fall. Alfred said not a word and cleaned me up immediately. Respectfully putting my father's shaving instrument back in its proper place.

Now I am alone and remembering the party I went to with Grace at Tommy's. It was the same as always, boring with too many people, too many drugs and too much alcohol. Everyone was having fun, and I... I had to find a way to have as much drink in my body so that I was _able_ to try and have fun. Though, I wasn't having fun. I wasn't even happy. It was all fake, like a placebo. But I knew that the more I drank, the more I could pretend, the more I could lie. Especially to myself. So I took all my problems and all of my pain and made myself become numb with every shot, every bottle. Down my throat filling all the emptiness with buzz and excitement. I'm not sure what number I had consumed by the centre of the night, but I know I ended up on the couch, having drank enough to become consumed by my surroundings yet not care about what was going on. So clearly a room filled with blind gluttony.

It wasn't until Grace--who was sitting beside me--rolled her body on top of mine that finally caught some bit of my attention. The weight of her legs squeezing against mine on both sides was a bit uncomfortable but I tried to forced myself to enjoy it like the other strangers around me with people cradled in their lap. I thought she was going to kiss me, our noses close to touching and I prepared myself for our lips to mate--but they didn't. She leaned away from me and clutched her purse to her chest like I'd both flattered and offended her. Yet she was laughing, so I laughed too. She pulled something shiny out from the pocket of her bag... at first believing, it was a set of keys or a piece of jewellery. Yet I came to realise it was nothing of the sort, but a razor blade. A bright, shiny razor blade.

She flashed a smile that went along with the blade's shell, copycatting the spark and the gleam. And for a moment I felt my mask slip, though I was smiling it wasn't the smile that reflected Grace's but the smile of a childish boy who was too ignorant about the obvious things.

" _What's that for,"_ I asked her.

She didn't answer me. At least… not with words. She reached down slowly between ourselves and I moved uncomfortably with the corners of my mouth beginning to drop in a frown. I was nervous and I didn't know what to expect--afraid she might touch me; but instead, she grabbed onto one of my hands sitting idly in my lap. Our fingers became laced together as she brought the cuff of my sleeve to her mouth and began fiddling with the button between her teeth. I can't exactly remember why I decided to dress in an attire so formal, but Grace seemed to be having a good time toying with the clear button against her tongue. Her legs were grinding against mine as she did this and I was beginning to wonder if she was doing it on purpose. Eventually, she succeeded in unhooking the bottom from its reservation, wide-eyed as if I was supposed to be impressed with her ability to manoeuvre her mouth in such a way. However, I was confused. Was I supposed to be impressed?

 _"Ta-da…"_ she mouthed, her voice sounded very far away. I believe I somehow managed to throw out the word _"impressive,"_ yet my brain keeps telling me that's probably a lie. I could be wrong, but I just can't remember.

After that, Grace pushed the cuff of my sleeve all the way down to my elbow, hold my arm close to her face. She procured the blade once again and there it had become honest with me what was going to happen. I should have reacted, should have moved… should have brought my hand up to her to stop her. Should have pushed her off of me. Should have opened my own mouth to stop it… But the words _"no"_ and _"stop"_ were too heavy on my tongue. Weighing it down to the bottom of my jaw… too weak and over encumbered to articulate the right words. My body had shifted again in strange discomfort, my skin breaking down in a sweat… but my pulse… my pulse somehow seemed to cry out for the mouth of the blade. Seeming to beg for its touch… breathing up and down slowly while creating a heavy thump that appeared to grow louder over the sound of Tommy's stereo music. Deep down I remembered why I was there and that my body wanted to punish myself for everything I had done. Even knowing that, I was afraid. I wanted to scream but my lips stayed pursed shut even when Grace brought the sharp edge of the razor down to my arm--just centimetres below my veins--and the cold metal clamped down hard over my skin like an animal, chewing my flesh to create an opening for the blood to run down hot. A cry found its escape from the back of my throat, though I didn't hear it over the music. The mark wasn't too deep, just deep enough for the blood to run up quickly and build. Then Grace put her lips over the cut and began sucking the blood from my wound. Her lips pressed around the mark, her hand holding my wrist and her body digging into mine. Suddenly I felt like I was drifting… _sinking_ away into a deep blue ocean. Further away from everybody else. I closed my eyes and succumbed to tiredness. Grace… her lips and her touch where fading further away too… the music was going soft… my sight fading deep into darkness…

… Until someone shouted from above the water where my head was submerged. I had to come up for air in spite of not remembering how to breathe properly. My lungs somehow found the way and I opened my eyes as Grace turned her head backwards in a blur. A thick line of claret running down the cut she had made, a circle around where her lips were. I hoped she would do something to fix it, yet the trail made its way all the way down to my inner elbow and then some. Grace abandoned me, the weight of her legs being taken away made me grateful and I no longer felt heavily weighed on. Able to move I hastily bunched my sleeve onto my arm trying to apply as much pressure as I could.

That's all I can remember. No recollection of how I found my way home or into bed with my pyjamas. The covers pulled over my head and the curtains closed to the same frequency so when the sun tried to raise over the skyscrapers and the clouds to reach me--it could not find me because I did not want to be seen. And when I awoke this morning I was struck with a sense of fear and strange sickness, believing I was not alone. My fingers shuffled themselves around the bed and I was relieved to find it empty of anyone else but just myself.

For a strange reason, I was almost instantaneously brought back to that one moment… and the moment before when I had cut myself as a child--the place where Grace inflicted me pulsing like a purposeful memory. How I was so angry… The blood, the sight and smell were so distinct. Like wet metal. When I saw it, all times I couldn't help but associate it with the places I've seen it before, which made me angrier. Everything came flooding back at such an overwhelming rate that I couldn't help but shake uncontrollably and think of the quickest release I could find. My phone nowhere to be seen, alcohol down the steps and in the bottom cabinet in the dining hall but I couldn't risk seeing Alfred. I had to run.

So I came here, in the quiet and emptiness of my parent's bathroom. Unused and untouched at my request. There was no reason for the place of my parents to be tampered with. It's unnecessary. I reached for my father's side of the mirror, a desperate reached for the safety razor sleeping on the shelf. It woke with a growl… I shut the mirror with a gentle close, and without thought or question, I brought the now rusting blade to my neck, digging deep into my skin, deep into the jugular vein. Tearing the skin across my throat spilling the blood in a downpour of crimson over my throat and shirt. I'm soaked in it. It's like I can finally breathe again.

I glance down and see the razor still between my fingers. Untouched, untainted, same as my neck, still clean and pure. Deep into my eyes, there is a person… I look down at the razor again, contemplating my next action I realize that I don't care what it is. I don't care how much I know the pain is going to hurt, I don't care about the mess I know I'm going to make and I don't care the irrational and _wrongdoing_ of my choice. I just want to hurt.

A knock on the bathroom door causes me to avert my attention. It's Alfred. He knocks twice.

"Master B? Master Bruce are you in there?"

He goes silent, then knocks again. I don't answer him, turn back to the blade. Tuck a few fingers under the sleeve of my sweatshirt and yank it over my elbow. Alfred knocks again, calls my name. I bring the sharp cut of silver just close enough to the blue veins hiding under my skin. My teeth grit themselves in discomfort as the razor pokes a hole in my skin under my rule, chews out a line. I moan but it's low, choke out a breath when blood oozes from the escape, runs down the side of my arm in a desperate break to freedom. I remember what I did… and the small tiny-seeming laceration on my arm reminds me of what he did. The mark created against Alex's neck… I recall and again I am digging into my arm poking and ripping flesh. I remember his body being thrown like something so oblivious to the real world. Trying to catch my breath I'm screaming, pounding on the marble of the counter, banging on the glass, splitting it into pieces. Blood is failing…

I stop. Peer down. Again, standing still at the sink with blood dripping from my wounds. The razor is wet, and so is the counter. I squeeze the razor in my fingers, pinch it into my arm. Deep… I press the pain down harder.


	4. Farewell

_To Maria,_

 _From her children,_

 _Who forgive her._

 _**Set after the events of "Smile Like You Mean It" with some heavy drug use.**_

 _"Yeah smile, you won."_

 _-Selina Kyle in "Smile Like You Mean It."_

"We will be out of this dreadful city soon Maria." Cole placed a hand over her thigh and stuck one of his last cigarettes between his lips with his other hand. He then excited the flame of an old vintage lighter he had sitting in his back pocket with the flick of his thumb. The fire burned to life. He brought the flame to the end of his cigarette-burning the chemicals and tobacco, sending the smoke wafting into his lungs where he then inhaled with pleasure. He closed his eyes for a second and savoured the soothing taste, rolling his head on the back of the train-car seat and opening them again. He saw a "No Smoking" sign hanging directly across from him. He blew the smoke from his mouth in the direction of it; as if to say "fuck you."

He handed the hand-rolled substance over to Maria, poking it against her chapped lips gently before she snatched it from his hand. She put it between her teeth and took a drag, keeping her eyes focused on the passing city of skyscrapers she was leaving behind. Gotham's skyscrapers. She grazed her fingerprints against the glass, feeling the familiar cold air slip through the window, blowing away bits of her smoke.

She felt anxious.

She needed a drink.

Cole gave her leg a gentle squeeze. She was wearing an old pair of leggings she had stashed to the bottom of her carry-on; along with an old knee length skirt. The only clean pieces of clothing she had left with her.

She was about to pass the cigarette back into his hand before she glanced into the aisle of the train and noticed a service attendant striding toward them. Quickly, she leaned forward in her cramped seating quarters, just enough to snuff out of the light of the cigarette on the sole of her boot. Dropping the tobacco on the floor shortly afterwards. She wasn't sure why she cared so much, Cole wouldn't have cared. He'd have blown the smoke in the attendant's face if given the opportunity.

"Why do you insist on being such a prude?" Cole murmured. Maria shot him a dirty look before straightening herself out right at the time of the attendant's arrival.

"I'm sorry Ma'am, but there's no smoking on the train." Her perfectly red lips were turned up into a fake smile-Maria was probably not the first person she'd used it on today. But it was still something pretty, coinciding well alongside her neatly pressed jacket and skirt uniform, and the tightly wound, blond curls tucked securely in the firm snugness of her hat. Maria's ugliness toward her beauty was sickening.

"I'm sorry," she waved a hand out, "won't happen again."

"Is there anything I can get the two of you to drink? Water? Soda? A glass of wine?"

"A glass of wine would be nice," Cole answered.

"A bottle," Maria murmured to the window.

The attendant left and then returned with what she had asked for-she even uncorked the bottle, leaving two flute glasses behind. Maria ignored them and started on the bottle straight away. Cole lit another cigarette.

"Say goodbye, dear," he breathed into Maria's ear.

The city was finally beginning to be behind them.

"Farewell…"

They finally got back to their dusty, old motel in Chicago sometime past twelve, late at night. The curtains hung on the broken windows were drawn closed, all except for the dimming strip of light shining through the slit. Just the way Maria left it. The little light was almost blinding her fragile eyes. Her head was just beginning to hurt from all the drinks on the train. She threw the case of their winnings onto the poorly made bed. Shutting her eyes, she let her one duffle of personal belongings slip from her right shoulder and fall onto the floor like dead weight-trying to taste any last flakes of buzz she could manage.

While she did that, she realized she could slip away to a place that was somewhere only in the far back depths of her mind. Her memories.

She was on a beach, back when Selina was very little, and her hair was so long that it drifted way past her little boney shoulders. Her hair was like the colour of gold. She smiled and laughed, scooping up fistfuls of dry sand with her bare hands and then throwing it into the wind. The sky was bright blue, the ocean was so clear, and the sand felt so impossibly warm and soft beneath her toes… She could still feel the radiating touch of the sun against the exposed portions of her skin; her legs, arms, and cheeks all cooked into golden perfection.

 _"Mommy, look!"_

Cole was already rummaging through his back pockets for some of their earrings he had stuffed inside to get them back home.

"I'm going to get us something to eat," he said heading toward the door. He stopped just before turning the door handle, turning his head around to look at Maria who spoke nothing more than silence. He sauntered over to her and slipped his hand into her empty one that was limply hanging at her side. "You going to be alright by yourself?"

"Hmm?" The beach drifted away from her and no sooner was she back in their cheap motel. She felt his hand first and realized he had grabbed hold of her. She also realized how uncomfortably hot the room was. The radiator was buzzing, and she was sweating. "Okay yeah, I'll be fine," she assured with a slight sway of her body.

"Okay, well I'll be back in a little while. I'll bring you back something to eat" he reminded her; this time leaving officially.

When she knew he was really gone Maria thought of three things. One was the knowledge she had in her mind that he was not going to bring back food. Two was that she was very much alone, And three was that she was most certainly not okay.

Like a child, or even a fully-grown woman (if you can imagine) she scurried to the edge of the bed like she was holding a secret. Frantic, she pulled apart the mattress and the box-spring and squeeze two of her fingers through to pull out a tiny bag half full of white power filled inside. She marvelled at it. Imagined her next move. And while she readied herself for another trip, she began slipping back far into the ocean. Where Selina was waiting…

 _The sand was as soft as powder beneath her feet. She was back_ again-on _the shore with the sun high above her head, and the waves flowing forward, begging her to dive inside. She was back again with Selina. Except, Maria soon came to realize that Selina was nowhere to be found. She was alone on an empty beach. And there was a strange, rough chill in the air. The once cloudless sky became inflamed with a mass of vapour-turning quickly from the colour white into grey and then pure darkness. Thunder roared above Maria's head and she suddenly felt… afraid._

 _She turned her head out toward the ocean that seemed to stretch out for miles, finally finding what she was missing. **Her**. Selina, on a little blue raft floating dangerously out into the ocean. A large wave jumped up and hit the side of her _raft _, making her scream._

 _Maria screamed_ for _her. She watched Selina's long curls whip around and twist in unison with the storm._

 _"Mom! Mommy, help me!"_

 _But Maria was just too far away. She could feel the inside of her mouth starting to become dry._

 _"I'm c… I'm coming baby…"_

 _Selina was drifting too far out of her reach. She was floating too far away. Her screams were becoming nothing more than a faint buzzing sound, and her physical body was turning into nothing more than a distant silhouette. A little speck amidst the vast black seas._

 _"Selina!"_

 _Maria bolted like wildfire; running fasted she could toward the tides with her cardigan catching against the harsh wind. The air was tough, pushing her-trying to keep her away from her daughter. Her feet were pounding the powdery sand in a fury but she wasn't getting anywhere, and Selina was getting further away. Maria was desperate, so she pushed herself to run faster, pushing herself to run far past the point of her lungs catching on fire._

 _It was an absolute miracle when she finally reached the tide. The dark waters only grazed the bottoms of her feet for nothing more than the hair of a second before she heard something break, followed by the piercing feeling of something sharp. She immediately fell facedown into the water._

 _She felt dazed as she rolled over and coughed out the salt from her mouth. She turned to her side to look out into the ocean, but there was nothing. No trace of Selina anywhere and Maria felt defeated; like a failure. The tied pulled away from her, and despite her reaching out a hand to it, it left her behind. Shrinking away from her, the tide turned the dark sand below it into a fine, white powder._

At first _she was confused, but the sight roused Maria into a sitting position. Touching it felt like heaven. She scooped a handful into her palms, and the most amazing thing happened-the sun was so hot beneath the clouds, that it **melted** the powder until it slipped through her fingers._

 _She heard Selina's voice again in the far off distance._

 _"Mom! Mommy!"_

 _Maria didn't turn away from her hands. She couldn't help herself. She parted her hands, causing the dissolved liquid to slip into a slight downpour-with only a slight little remaining pooled in the centre of her palm._

 _"Mom!"_

 _She reached down, turning her left hand to her side, sending her fingers to search in the powder. They clasped around something small, something familiar. She pulled it from the powder-a syringe._

 _"Mommy!"_

 _She fashioned it around her fingers accordingly, bring it to the small pool in her hand. She had to be gentle. She had to be careful. She had to be careful when she placed the sharp needle tip to her palm… and drew in the liquid. As much as she could manage._

 _"Mom!"_

 _This time, Maria responded..._

 _"I'm c… I'm coming baby… just… just hold on. Hold on one second." Carefully, she transferred the syringe from one hand to the other, pushing the long sleeve of her cardigan out of the way in the process. She pressed the syringe flat on her arm, the needle's point touching the centre crook of her elbow. She bit her lip._

 _"Mom!"_

 _"Just hold on_ baby _. Hold on one second." Her voice came out raspy. She was trying to concentrate._

 _"Mom!"_

 _"Just hold on_ baby _. Hold on one second."_

 _She felt someone standing behind her._

 _"Mom!"_

 _They put their hands around her shoulders._

 _"Just hold on_ baby _. Hold on one second."_

 _The world was spinning around her._

 _"Mom!"_

 _"Just hold on_ baby _. Hold on one second."_

 _She punctured the bit of skin touching the needle, creating a pinching feeling; the feeling of something moving beneath her skin, followed by the feeling of a slight burning. She pulled the plunger back slightly; a dark crimson flowing out confirming she had hit a vein; the right spot. She pushed her blood back inside. She could still hear Selina's voice._

 _"Mom…..."_

 _"Mom…..."_

 _"Mommy…..."_

 _"Hold on baby!"_

 _She pushed the plunger down all the way; injecting herself and taking a huge breath of air like she hadn't breathed in forever. She felt the drug soar all the way into her brain... and then she felt… infinite._

 _Everything suddenly so beautiful, Maria had never felt more alive. The syringe slipped from her shaking fingers and into the comfort of the sand, which had reverted back_ into _its grainy texture and tan colouring. Maria, touched her shoulder, feeling_ intense rush _of indescribable, pleasurable sensations as she soon fell forward and rested her cheeks against the sand. The dark clouds parted themselves finally, and the sun shone down on Maria and her sins like an angel._

 _She felt hot, her glassy eyes searching for nothing outside the calming waves of the ocean put her to sleep in essential bliss…_

 _"I'm coming baby… I'm coming…" she whispered, but no one was there to hear her._

She rested her head against the hard edge of the bathtub… sweat beating down her neck and exposed torso massacred in old scarring-her blouse crumpled in a pile beside her. It was mixed in with her brown skirt and leggings. The syringe was sitting in the creases of her hand. She closed her eyes, breathing… thinking… everything was still… Everything was nothing…

 _She opened her eyes again, no longer being blinded by the daylight of the sun, no longer being shrouded in the heat and harm. No longer looking out toward the sea that was so far away from her moments ago, but looking **into** it as it lapped the side of her face that was drowning. She could hear the water swimming inside of her ear, the tide kissed her lips. When her head cleared a little she noticed she was soaked from head to toe._

At first _she didn't want to get up, she wanted to stay there forever. But_ the _someone who had been holding onto her earlier was now hovering **over** her. Towering like a monster. They stomped on her spine up and down, as hard as they could until Maria remembered what she had forgotten. Panic began to set._

She moved her face into the water, unable to gather the strength she needed in order to lift herself out of the tide. She swallowed the dryness in her throat, coughing as she fought to push her torso from the saltwater-but her body felt like lead. Her arms wouldn't cooperate, her palms laid stuck to the sand, glued under the water.

 _She moaned, letting the seawater flood into her lungs accidentally as she tried to force some strength into her arms. Her face remained in the water, she was beginning to drown. She tried again, finally pushing herself out of death's hands-coughing and spitting; wheezing like a fish out of their bowl. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest. She curled herself into a ball on her knees, throwing her head backwards and squinting at the sun even though it was covered by the grey clouds._

 _She looked out into the_ ocean-empty _. The tide was up to her waist now, almost knocking her_ backwards _onto her back. The water was so vast and empty, she realised…_

 _"Selina?!" She screamed, almost crying. "Selina?! I'm coming baby!" Maria started to bolt upright before she was knocked over flat._

"I'm coming baby!" She cranked up the dial on the faucet as far as it would allow from itself and then she continued to force it more. Tears streamed down her face as much as the water that sloshed over the side of the tub onto her feet. The water splashed her ankles and soaked the clothing that was still in its pile abandoned.

 _She bobbed her head under the water-searching the dirty, misty underground for her missing child. She screamed under the tide, allowing the saltwater to fill her lungs and make her choke. Maria shot out of the water for some breathable air before going under again._

 _She ducked her head under the cold overflowing basin. The water immediately froze her cheeks and nose. Soaking her hair. She opened her eyes and looked for Selina, screaming her name. And when she didn't hear any kind of response she pulled her head out of the water and tried again._

 _She was drowning… or at least, she was going to. She couldn't tell for sure. But she felt dizzy and tired from swimming so long. Swimming so long under the water and the tide; under the world… under the sky, under the sun, under the clouds… Under the birds that were flapping their wings free in the wind. Free. Not prisoners._

 _It was just her under those birds. Maria, swimming endlessly in the cold depths of the high seas; not even any life around to give her company. It was just her alone and cold… sinking and swimming… She was growing weaker… beginning to get tired. She couldn't see straight, couldn't think… She couldn't find her daughter anywhere. She felt useless._

Pushing the top of her cranium into the base of the tub as far as she could manage; hurting herself.

 _She looked up toward the surface that seemed so very far away. Too far away for her to reach in time before she expired; but she stared for it anyway. And while it felt like her arms did very little, yet, somehow she made it-and breathed the salty air that was more useful to her then the water. She sucked_ the the _air with a few moaning sounds that were desperate breaths, manoeuvring herself around in circles as she scanned the nothingness that surrounded her in abundance. The nothingness that consumed her from every direction._

 _The sun was coating her face and she became frantic._

 _She dove under again screaming…_

As a pair of hands grabbed onto her unexpectedly. She flinched, and then she screamed, gasping for air as she was yanked from the water of the tub. Coughing, as she realized she was no longer on the beach anymore, and Selina was nowhere to be found-and that was the way things were supposed to be.

"Whoa, whoa," Cole ran a cold hand down her even colder shoulder with a teeth smile grin as he tried to calm her down. "Bad trip?" he joked with a chuckle. But Maria wasn't laughing along with him. She was frantic. "Taking a bath without me?"

It should have been taken into some serious consideration the state she was in. With the water from the tub, both, all over the title floor from being thoughtlessly overflowed, and being absorbed into Maria's hair-now, running all the way down her back and chest.

"Come on, I've got something that will warm you up quick." He smiled at her and led her back out where the bed was. She knew exactly to what he was referring to.

He set her on the bed and threw a blanket over her legs to cover them. He pulled two, velvet looking ebony bags from both his pockets and set them on the bed. As soon as Maria saw their rather impressive bulge-it was enough to shoot her sober.

"Jesus, Cole," she muttered. "I hope you didn't blow all our money on that." She complained to him like a mother, waving a hand by before setting it over her forehead for some form of comfort. She knew he hadn't however, but the generous amount was a new high; even for Cole.

"Of course not," he assured, opening up one of the bags with his index fingers. The white, translucent powder was almost overflowing from its packaging.

Cocaine.

"Here," Cole pinched a few tight nips dead center into the palm of his hand. He formed it into a neat little pile. "Give this a try."

She didn't want to. Cocaine was Cole's preference, not her's. For that, she should have just said no and declined, but Cole smiled at her with confidence and positivity, leaning in closer to her with the cocaine in hand. He grabbed the back of her head gently-leaning her head down until her nose was just touching the drug. She could smell it in her nose, tied along with the other scents lingering the cracks in Cole's skin.

She didn't want to. But she did it anyway.

There was fire.

That was the first feeling that shot through her brain. Literally. Like Cole has taken his old lighter and lit it directly under her nose, igniting an explosion that fired all the way into the back of her skull. The burning feeling caused her head to shoot all the way back to the hard surface of the headboard. Cole cheered.

The powder bit the inside of her nose and burned. She immediately felt _excited_ , all her scenes and feeling kicked into a high rush. She did feel warm-hot actually, her heart was pounding so hard inside of her chest that she was afraid it might break her ribcage open and jump right out. She began to panic again, fidget with irritants. She needed her own drugs to feel better. Cocaine made her feel… _out of control_. The worst part?

She almost liked it.

"Cole…" she reached out to him, trying to stop him for a second from setting himself up overtop their briefcase-their earnings, now seated over her legs. She wanted him to fetch her tools for her under the ocean in the bathroom, but he was much too absorbed in his own addiction.

He tapped a considerable amount onto the snakeskin surface of their bag; tying up the rest and tucking it back into his pocket for safe holding. Then he found his wallet amongst the bedclothes-fishing out an old credit card Maria knew no longer worked; he used it to divide up the substance into five equal piles.

"Two for you and three for me?"

She wanted to say no, but the pounding in her chest mixed with the dancing in her brain made her want to say yes. So she said nothing and curled herself down with one finger pressed against the side of her nose while the other side inhaled the sweet two lines of white purity like she'd seem Cole do a million times before.

"Uh," she rolled her head back this time with a moan. Focusing as the drug jumped directly to her brain with such an intensity. She welcomed it with open arms and mind, all thoughts pushed aside to make room for more. When Cole leaned down and took his fair share, she smiled.

"Could you get my-" she giggled, pointing in the direction of the bathroom.

Cole nodded with a quick "yes" as he tilted his head back, pinching his nose and letting the drugs work their tainted magic on him before he got up.

Maria waited patiently for him with her head rested back against the headboard. She heard him fish his hands into the tub water for something and collect her things. And by the time he returned she managed to sit herself up properly against the bed, holding her arm in position for him.

First, he took off his belt; unfastening the silver buckle in the centre and sliding the worn leather against the denim loops of his pants. He fastened the belt around her arm, just above her usual injection sight-pulling it tight.

"There," he said. "Nice and tight."

 _Nice and tight._

From there he dragged his hands over the bed where her little black bag sat waiting. Scooting it over, closer between them he pulled the strings apart and stuck the spoon inside, removing it with enough heroin sitting daintily in the curve of the silver. He set the bag aside; retrieved his lighter, and used it to heat the base of the spoon until enough of the heroin was liquidized.

"Here," his whispers into the quick descending night. "You hold it." He passed it to Maria who held it between her fingers, trying not to make them tremble so she wouldn't spill a drop.

Cole pushed the plunger forward on her already _used_ instrument of abuse, pointing the sharp end of the needle into the curve of the spoon. He pulled the plunger back, just slightly above Maria's normal dose. He takes the spoon back from her and sets it beside the nightstand. He pins the needle up against her arm as she normally would; right in the inner crook of her elbow. He pushed it inside, repeating the same process of pulling and pushing the blood back and forth before dousing her with exhilaration.

She sighed, finally feeling relaxed and relieved.

"Better?" He comments.

Better.

She nods, the cocaine in her system doing a mellow, gothic dance in tune with the heroin. Swishing and swaying. Making Cole's touch against her breasts feel like complete bliss, while her brain begged to touch him with hysteria. She touched the silver button on his jeans, toying with it with only her one free hand. Trying to wrench it apart. Cole smiled, feeling the same as the crystal in his system took complete control over him.

She sat up and tried to help him get his clothes off, but he grabbed her wrists and pinned her back. She complied, and he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her downward until her head was resting firmly against the pillow. Her breath was speechless, but her eyes and hands begged her for Cole to keep touching her.

He pulled her against him, making sure the dirty, worn part of her underclothes was tightly up against distention coming from beneath his pants. She moaned. He traced his fingers along her side, kissing her legs and thigh like a hungry animal, almost tearing her underwear away in a rough attack. He climbed over top of her, leaning into her like a giant until he brought his lips down lower, biting her lips and neck-pushing himself against her as he opened the button on his pants.

Maria felt skin.

He kissed her.

She kissed him back.

She bit her lip.

She braced herself…

 _As the tide crashed against her bare legs. Floating out under her naked body, coating her with salt. It did it again and again until she finally became aware of where she was. She felt washed-up. Used. Abused, and strung-out._

 _On her side, she rolled onto her back, closed her eyes, and let the tide take her again._

It was close to being sunrise but still very dark out by the time she finally awoke. The first thing she did before opening her eyes was reach down into the bag she had kept sitting beside the bed. It was a natural thing she did in the morning, pulling out one of the few wine coolers she had stashed aside from the train ride.

 _Figures, Cole forgot to pick up something to drink._

She moaned as she wiggled herself from his embrace and into a sitting position with her legs hanging off the bed-barely touching the floor. She tried hard not to, but the first thing she did before opening her bottle as think.

 _"Can you believe it?" Cole laughed, pushing himself inside her with her legs held up toward his chest. "The way they just **believed** you! It's crazy," he said. "They don't know you _Maria _… but I do."_

 _He bent down to her lips to give her a quick kiss. Leaving his forehead against hers while he pushed against her faster and faster, panting out his next sentence._

 _"I don't… I don't understand…" He breathed roughly. "How you managed… to stay sober for that time… But I guess we both know…" he smiled when he kissed her neck and chest, "you weren't all that sober…" slowing himself down into a softer rhythm."_

 _Maria moaned against him. She bit her lip following his words._

 _"I bet… I bet that kid's_ screwing _her…" He said. "You know?"_

 _She knew who he was talking about. Those words hurt her the most. And then he said:_

 _"I would."_

She curled herself into a ball and pressed her palms flat against her both her temples. Their faces, names and conversation swirled around continuously inside her head. Invading the space left inside. She could even remember the smells and tastes around the home… around the city…

 _Have to forget them! She thought quickly. I have to forget them now! I have to forget her…_

That's when she reached for the neck of the bottle again and desperately unscrewed the cap-taking the rim to her lips and swallowing the poison down as fast as she was able. Some of it dripped down her chin and chest but she didn't care. The tiny bottle was gone in less than a minute and she felt better. Then she felt nauseous.

She bolted for the bathroom and slipped-the floor still soaking on account of her earlier episode. Luckily, she caught the sink and was able to pull herself up in time to heave into the porcelain before running it all down the drain.

She almost panicked shortly after, noticing the condition of the floor and the tub-her clothes in a wet heap. The blood stains, the broken wine bottle on the floor. It was all flooding back to her like the sea every time she looked around. Though it was dark, she wasn't blind. And Maria had a habit of seeing in the dark.

Suddenly, as her frantic eyes kept running around, they stopped when she caught the smallest glance of herself in the mirror. Slowing turning, she faced herself. Maria.

 _Maria Kyle._

 _Poor._

 _Stupid._

 _Ugly._

 _Fat Maria._

She sighed, dropping her gaze and lank eyes onto the floor. When she returned to her reflection, she wasn't staring back. In her place, stood a small, six-year-old little girl with a face like Maria's and hair that belonged to a goddess. She stood inside the mirror with her lips pushed downward in a frown. Her blank expression and striped bathing suit were almost familiar… but she was honestly nothing more than a stranger though Maria's eyes.

She placed a hand against the glass and cried.

To you _I was probably just a ghost,_

 _but even ghosts should get to say goodbye._

 _-Farewell._


	5. Police Report

**Gotham City Police Department**

 **Gotham City**

 **Incident Report #2782329**

 **Report Entered: February 15, 2018 12:31am**

 **[Case Title]**

Location:

The corner of the old warehouse on sixth street

Date and Time Reported:

February 15, 2018 12:43am

Date and Time Occurred:

February 15, 2018 12:00 am

Type of Incident/Offence:

Vehicle-related incident, car crash

Reporting Officer:

Gordon, James (231611)

Approving Officer:

Currently none

 **Persons (A)**

Role:

Witness

Name:

Gordon, James

Sex:

Male

Race:

Caucasian

Age:

39

DOB:

September 12, 1978

Phone:

Address:

 **(B)**

Role:

Witness

Name:

Bullock, Harvey

Sex:

Male

Race:

Caucasian

Age:

51

DOB:

February 27, 1966

Phone:

Address:

 **(C)**

Role:

Witness

Name:

Unknown

 **Offenders**

Status:

In recovery at Gotham

General Hospital

Name:

Bruce Wayne

Sex:

Male

Race:

Caucasian

Age:

16

DOB:

February 19, 2001

Phone:

Address:

1007 Mountain Drive,

Gotham City

 **Vehicle**

Property

Class:

High

Description:

New (possibly stolen), Rolls Royce,

Silver Phantom 2018.

Make:

Rolls Royce

Modle:

Phantom

Serial #:

Value:

$417,825

 **Narrative**

On the fifteenth of February nearing the time of 12:00 am, Detective Harvey Bullock and myself were busy at the time and date dealing with some petty theft (suspect may or may not be involved in another case), who ran following the incident. Harvey and I chased him where he was apprehended at the corner street lamp outside the warehouse. We stood questioning the suspect just as I began to hear a sudden buzzing sound in my left ear. And by the time my partner and I turned around the Rolls Royce had crashed head-on, directly into the lamp post at seemingly full speed. The suspect had taken the opportunity to flea at which point I decided it best to handle the crash victim instead. I called for backup and an ambulance immediately following the crash, approaching the victim carefully seeing if they were able to respond. Getting a clear view of the site I realized the victim was Bruce Wayne; he was unresponsive, face pressed against the steering wheel causing it to blare constantly. There was a strong smell of alcohol stinging from his breath, suggesting he may have heavily been under the influence. His foot was seemingly wrenched into the gas pedal with no sign of having used the brake. One eye was open, and there was blood coming from his forehead and nose. His shirt was hanging open it appeared his chest was red with possible broken ribs from being crushed by the front of the wheel without an airbag acted. Checking him further he had a pulse and low breath but did not respond to paramedics as they arrived at the scene. Bruce is currently residing at Gotham Hospital in a medical coma until further notice from his doctors. He has sustained a fair amount of physical damage and trauma with a blood alcohol level ranging from .10 to .11. It is a miracle he is even alive. The boy's guardian, Alfred Pennyworth has been contacted by myself.

The front outside of the car lies completely crushed, with damage sustained to both the headlights and the engine. Part of the driver's side door was crushed during the impact along with its window. Bits and pieces were scattered into the street. The streetlamp had fallen onto the front window after impact and shattered the glass, creating a dent on the hood of the car.

I have no idea how I let this happen.

Signature:

 _Gordon, James_


	6. Touch

I can remember it almost like a thought inside my mind; an idea created by paranoia and fear as I lay beneath it all. Opening my eyes to the squinting, bright, cloudy sky coming in through the windows open-drawn curtains. It's oddly bright and for a moment I wonder if anyone saw us last night. What we did and called the police-then putting me inside a scenario where the police did come, and I answered with a blanket wrapped loosely around my waist I smiled at them and asked if they wanted to party. They said to keep the noise low and left us unsupervised-my sad eyes watching them go.

Now, here I lay, opening my mouth to breath and so suddenly struck with terror and fear that my breath stops dead in my lungs and refuses to relieve me-leaving me afraid. So wrapped up in uncertainty and unknowing I wish a hand to my chest to feel my heartbeat, but instead feel too paralyzed to move. Looking up at the ceiling and knowing I am not alone, stuck in a nightmare of my own doing with nothing to substitute covers to pull over my head. Nothing even resembling a flashlight to guide my way through the ever darkness, sinking further deep into a place where my starts to shake beyond my control… bringing me to a new level of fear that they will wake and the nightmare will never end. Feeling the bodies of strangers all around me, laying over my like weight crushing me into the sheets. I lay trying to convince myself that I belong here. In a mess of men and women, naked and placed together as if we were one. Breast to chest, fingers still against my inner thighs. Arms sprawled against my stomach and hot, restful breath low against various parts of my body. Fingers entangled in the hair below my belly button. I try to squirm... twist my neck and see a strange girl lying straight on her back, her brunette locks scent filling my nose, her naked torso, breasts heaving up and down with her breath. I notice my white shirt around her shoulders and realize she's wearing it. I wonder where my trousers are.

I lay there, a body and deep down feeling like nothing more-nothing better than a body. A mouth to use, but a mouth with no voice and no words to speak, speechless. If I could speak, utter a single word or syllable, my lips would form the word "trapped" into the empty air above me. Feeling the so suck and left stranded by my own morals and principles in the parts of people. So I lay trembling in silence under them and let the terror consume me until I am used to the feel. It almost because as natural as the thing I am constantly striving to do…

Remembering a better time with lights and people and fun. Laughter and screaming with a burning sensation down my throat. A blurry sight casting over my eyes making it hard for me to see. Feeling good-better than I've felt in so many years and surrounded by so many people who know how to live. The rush of touching them-feeling their skin as they feel mine. Laughing at the girls when they take their shirts off while skirts fall "innocently" to the knees. Flesh tones mixed with lace of red and black. People making out in the corners, tongues swapping spit from one person to the next. Male to female, female to female, female to male, and then male to me. Hands exploring foreign and similar places of body, innocent and curious when the clothes are pulled off one by one-quick the girls grab me-elated at their touch and their kiss they put my hands across their breasts and beneath the waistband of their underwear. I almost laughed because they seemed so proud of something so physically simple. Everything you can see in a medical journal sculpted onto the body of a being. Being the body of someone so living.

And deep down... somewhere deep inside me, a bitter tasting, liquid feel makes me want to take part on my own. I want to press lips with the woman and men, tongues swimming together. A deep part of my insides wants to hurt... I want to touch the girl's breasts and wonder if they feel the same softness as someone I used to know. Someone who escapes me in name and face, someone I used to _live_ with. So distantly I remember snaking my hand into her shirt in the night-innocently touching in a way I shouldn't have but feeling a strange sense of comfort. A safe feeling in the dizziness of sleep. I can remember a time of wake, her groaning from nightmare and dreams. She shifted... but let my hand rest.

I can only remember this for a moment until I remember I am not with that strange, beautiful girl anymore. The girls around me don't make me feel safe, touching them feels dangerous... and wrong in a sick sort of sense. Their bodies surrounding me from all angles, making me feel _caged..._ and then I realize, maybe the worst part of it all, that I'm pretending. When they touch me... I am only pretending to like every second of it and pretending to be part of the sexual drunkenness and high of my peers. Everything feeling so unnatural and _wrong_ , I want to run and hide away but only can stand trapped in the horror I have made for myself. Waking up inside the nightmare and suddenly becoming faced with the realization that there is no return. A high that comes crashing down at an alarming rate causing my facade to slip beyond my grasp. No one notices.

I feel alone. The only one in a world full of monsters and things that don't make me feel good. In a place where I am not, where I do not connect with the people or the things they do to me. Here but far away everything means nothing in a place of people. A place that is crowded, but I am alone.


	7. The Faceless

**They come at night,**

 _In the morning,_

 **Or whenever it suits them best.**

 _Dressed in street clothes,_

 **Formal clothes,**

 _Casual clothes,_

 **And sometimes even,**

 _long cloaks that touch the ground._

 **They come _unannounced,_**

 **Through my doors,**

 _Through the streets,_

 **Up the stairs,**

 _Around the corner,_

 _ **And to my bedroom where I sleep.**_

 _And to the place where I just so happen_

 _To_ be at _that time._

 _ **They grab me before it's too late to run.**_

 _ **They hold me down.**_

 **Pressing my face into the pillows,**

 _Into the street gravel._

 **I find it hard to fight back,**

 _Fight for_ myself _._

 **As though I am entirely paralyzed.**

 _Helpless._

 **Powerless.**

 **I could scream,**

 _I do scream,_

 **But my guardian would not hear me,**

 _But no one hears me_

 _In the empty street._

 **I don't get a good look at their faces**

 _Just their hands-_

 **Many of them;**

 _As they start taking away my clothes,_

 **And touching me…**

 _Sticking their hands up my shirt,_

 **Down my pants;**

 **Having managed so easily to undo the buckle**

 **On my belt and slid it through the loops.**

 _I feel hands and fingers where they shouldn't be._

 **Wet lips kiss mine**

 **And tongues slide past my teeth**

 **And down my throat;**

 _To which, I would happily bite them off_

 ** _If I had a choice._**

 **My shirt comes off,**

 _And so do my jeans._

 **They flip me onto my stomach,**

 _Push me onto my back,_

 **And start what they came to do;**

 _With my eyes having nothing to stare at_

 _But the pure grey sky,_

 **And the pictures of my parents on the nightstand.**

 ** _I do not cry._**

 ** _I can not cry._**

 **I am forced to endure their merciless**

 **And repetitive torment and abuse**

 **Of child rape and assault.**

 ** _My face turning a deep red from pain and humiliation._**

 _And when it's finally over,_

 **They flip me over,**

 _And let me sit up_

 **In front of their shameless selves.**

 _I stare_ into _them with_

 ** _Anger_**

 ** _Pain_**

 ** _And hate._**

 _ **I stare into those who have come.**_

 _ **They are Faceless.**_


	8. Rest in Peace

****Thank you everyone for the reviews; I wrote this story a while go and reading it now I am not totally in love with it (though I used to be super proud of it). Please know this story contains major character deaths and some violence. I got a lot of reactions from this story before so I hope it's okay. Please let me know if there is anything I can do to be better or any suggestions you wish to make. P.S. I am sorry if the story feels very rushed.****

* * *

" _Don't go gentle into that good night  
Rage on against the dying light."_

 _-"Somebody to Die For" by Hurts_

Freezing, Selina was shivering violently from the cold outside the manor walls. Though, she was smiling too with her lips turning an icy blue colour as she pushed open the double doors to the living room, having to ruffle her hands through the heavy curtains that hung in her way. For a moment she thought nothing of it-it wasn't a big deal. Yet something inside her head told her something was amiss. Bruce rarely had the curtains drawn.

She ignored the tiny feeling, however. Letting it run around like a cockroach on her skull. Smiling fading at the absence of warmth around her, therefore the absence of a fire Bruce had failed to light. Making the room feel just as cold as the outside, if not more. She hastily stomped off the snow from her boots so she wouldn't track it everywhere.

As the snow fell from her soles, melting deep into the carpet from the friction of her shoes she looked around and realized the hollowness before her. Strangeness, considering Bruce spent _all_ his time in the living room. _Brooding_ over all his books and papers, police report and crime photos, the thoughts inside his ever growing mind well until past the hour of five in the morning. The entire reason she came through the house by the porch anyway. Often times peeking in the brightening hours to see him sacked out on the couch, drooling with a blanket draped around his body. But today, even with everything laid out so seemingly perfect, Bruce was nowhere to be seen.

Something seemed very, _very_ wrong.

She called for him."Bruce?" The entire house remaining in a dead silence. Not even the spirits of the home or his annoying Butler, Alfred called back to her. Not even a sound came to her ears. "Kid?!"

Not even the T.V was on blaring the news reports that she knew Bruce would watch for hours on end. An eerie still and quiet. Darkness and grey surrounding her view of everything being blacked into shadows. Lights absence casing a depressing atmosphere hanging in the air and seeming to swallow Selina whole. She confirmed with herself.

 _Something's definitely not right._

She was positively sure of it.

Slowly she crept from the living room, wandering around the empty hallways that seemed to harbour ghosts. Careful not to make a sound that could somehow disturb the emptiness that might scare her to death. It was so silent that she could hear the blood from her heart rushing all the way to her ears. No conversation through the hallways to break the rush, no clattering of pot and pans, heavy-metal sounds, the scuffing of a person's shoes, or even the slight presence of another in the house besides her own.

She passed by a window. The curtains were again drawn the same as the living room. She touched them, the heavy fabric rough against her skin. Her fingers reached for the end and pulled back slightly, seeing that the sky outside so grey and dark. Looming over the manor as if someone had died. Selina glanced down to the main road where she saw the front of the house; barren just like the rest.

Abandoning the scene to continue her search for Bruce she was almost afraid to call his name. Nerves building inside her she breathed deep walking on cats paws. Feeling a heightened sense of survival need. Trying her best to make her fears go away she could not shake them. Her heart thumping heavily in her chest.

 _He's probably not home_. She thought to herself.

She stuffed her hands into her pockets and prepared to leave. _He's probably just…_ Then she heard a sound. A small sound; tiny, like the bottom of a glass being set on a table. Sounding so acute that it was possibly too far away but not so much that she couldn't hear. Her heart fluttered, excitement building she couldn't help it when a laugh escaped her lips and she went running toward the sound.

"Hey, I've been looking for you everywhere," her fingers glided along the wooden doorway as she rounded the corner into the dining area-voice both calm and peaceful. "You wouldn't believe the weather out the-" when her eyes finally came around the corner she realized it hadn't been Bruce she heard, but Alfred instead.

He was sitting at the dining table in almost complete darkness. Only the chandelier hanging above him provided minimal light while giving off a shadowy overcast. Though her sight was better than most it seemed as though she could only make out his slumped over figure, a short glass on the table near his hand, and the halfway empty drink inside. He reached for it, took a sip and returned it back to the table where it made the same clanging sound.

"Oh, hey," she gave him a small smile, trying to be polite despite his outward appearance admittedly scaring her. "I didn't think anyone was home, I-uh… I thought you were Bruce," she admitted. "Do you know where he is?"

He didn't look at her or respond. He only turned his head down more toward the table where his face was more concealed.

"I thought maybe the place had been overrun by ghosts or something," she chuckled, but when he finally turned to look at her and she saw the look in his eyes through the dim chandelier… it was clear there was nothing funny.

His face was grim, and his eyes dark, sad, and so _empty_. Looking like a man who had somehow aged a lifetime in the past few days and now no longer had any kind of life left to give. He looked sick, and like he'd been crying-face all puffy and lethargic seeming. His body wearing wrinkled clothing for who knows how many days. His hair dishevelled and eyes telling her he hadn't slept in days. He just stared at her,

Her expression changed and she gradually began approaching him, trying to seem unnoticeable to not startle him. Finishing with a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Hey, are you okay?" Her face turned up in honest concern while her eyes searched his for any kind of answers.

He finally shifted in the chair he was occupying, and she could feel the muscles tighten in his shoulder. He didn't speak to her straight away. Only mumbled something under his breath like he was trying to tell her the honest truth. He exhaled the air stuck in his lungs and tightened his eyes as though he was trying to cease himself from crying. Selina was about to ask him again when she felt him beginning to stand, so she took her hand away from his shoulder and took a step back to give him some space.

He knelt down before her causing her to take another step back as he placed both his hands on her shoulders. His voice came out broken, even as he tried to compose himself.

"I'm… _I'm very sorry_ ," he whispered, gentle sobs making their way into his accent. "I'm so sorry." She noticed a tear roll, then another and Selina became extremely confused.

"Sorry?" she wondered. "Sorry about what? Where's Bruce?" She glanced around the dark room searching for him, almost expecting him to sneak up behind the two of them and ask what they were talking about. But he didn't, and it was just her and Alfred followed by a sharp pain slowly entering her abdomen to prove that they weren't alone. She didn't like the feeling because often times it was telling her something was wrong.

He gave her shoulders a gentle shake. "Selina…," pulling her attention back to him, seeming more composed and seriously he was talking to Bruce. His fingers tightening around the leather of her jacket. "Master Bruce...he's…" he paused to keep himself together and confess what had been chewing at him for days. "Master Bruce," he began again, "he… he's gone," Alfred choked.

"Gone?" Selina didn't understand. "What do you mean _gone_?" His words hit her straight into her chest where she could feel panic rising within her. She almost knew what he meant. The look of himself mixed with the overcast of the house made it blatantly obvious, but her mind wouldn't allow her to possess the thought. And while she repeatedly turned his words over in her head, her brain kept cancelling out the word _"gone,"_ providing her with the inability of any real understanding of the possibility.

"He's gone," he repeated much more firmly, but when he started to explain the tragic event that had occurred to Bruce just a couple days before, he lost all control, "h-he was hit-t-t-t… b-by a car a-a few… days ago. It was an accident," he clarified from seeing the look on her face. "From the ice… he… he wasn't paying attention a-and this car, it slid on the ice. I was on the phone with Gordon at the time," he spoke fast recalling his call to the Detective via the payphone while his back was turned. "They tried to do everything they could to save him, but… but by the time they reached the hospital… he was gone. It was just too late. It was too late," he repeated while tears ran free from his eyes.

While he could recall the tragic event, Selina kept deleting his words from her mind before she had a chance to process them. It wasn't possible. She wouldn't accept it, and she didn't want to listen any further.

 _He's…_ She tried to say it in her head. _No._

 _No._

 _No._

 _No._

 _No._

 _ **No**_ _._

For a moment she just stood there staring at him like she still didn't understand. She couldn't understand because there wasn't any possible way. No way. She didn't believe him. Even when he started crying more openly in front of her, whispering how sorry he was the notion never grew further inside Selina's head; even when the raging voice screamed at her lies.

Suddenly, she became angry and pushed Alfred's hands away, screaming how wrong he was, that he was lying.

She couldn't believe it.

She refused to.

Selina retreated and ran all the way to the front of the house and up the long stairs with a panic attack building in her throat. He feet slammed against the floor with such force that it was enough to wake Thomas and Martha Wayne from their graves.

She yelled Bruce's name, calling for him as she ran down the hallways, opening every single door until she came to the right one. His bedroom.

 _No._

 _No._

 _No._

 _No._

 _No._

She searched the room frantically shouting his name because she thought maybe he was hiding from her. Playing some sort of sick prank. In such a frantic state she went straight to his bed and yanked the drawer to his bedside table completely from its place. Pens, papers, pictures, and other odds and ends spilled on top of her boots in a frenzy-the drawer dangling from between Selina's fingers at its knob. She stood staring down at the heap in a paralyzed state. Scared by her actions and scared by the noise…

She noticed hiding in the outer corner of the pile, a photograph. Black and white corner she dropped the wooden drawer with a clang to pluck the newspaper image with nimble fingers. Bruce and herself from the Gala a month or so back. Cut almost perfect with a pair of scissors and folded by four perfect creases. She held the paper up to the window in an attempt to catch some light.

 _Someone took a picture of us?_

Bruce had made her smile.

Her arms came down slowly as she tried to remember the night… how she wore a fancy, hundred dollar dress fancied in gold and black lace. Her hair in curling iron curls and feet squished into uncomfortable heels that Barbara forced her to wear. How people stared at them the entire time they did the waltz… but Selina's mind was in a fog and she couldn't remember a single thing.

Looking again at the pile of junk Selina noticed something shiny and bent down to pick it up, slowly lifting it in front of her. It was her locket, with the picture of her mother inside.

" _I'll put it in a safe place,"_ He told her when she'd given it to him for safekeeping.

Sniffling, she slowly started picking up the mess she made, turning the drawer so it was open and carefully placing everything back inside. She tried her best to organize it all and make everything as neat as she imagined it had been before she stormed in, but she just couldn't make it as neat.

Her feet felt like lead as she left. Not even bothering to close the door completely because the act of doing it felt to be much more effort than it was worth. She felt sick, like she was going to throw up. And her ribcage that had been holding her heart and keeping her alive seemed to give way and just collapse beneath the skin. She placed a hand to her chest and felt the beat, feeling weaker and weaker with every pulse her breath slowed down and she was soon breathing in copious amounts of air into her lungs.

Creeping slow down the staircase Selina made her way back into the living room where she found Alfred setting up a cup of tea joined with a pot for the two of them. She could easily tell he was a mess. The way he poured the tea, unsteeped with shaking hands into porcelain cups. No heat escaping from the spout told her he hadn't heated any water. With his hands trembling as they were he accidentally spilled half the water over the table.

"I-I'm sorry," he muttered setting the teapot down as quickly as he could while scrambling to clean the mess with a towel he had draped across his shoulder.

"It's okay," she whispered to him watching him become frantic over the spill.

She leisurely made her way over and picked up one the cups, holding it in her hand. She tried to be polite as she brought the cup to her lips and swallowed, now clutching the little cup as she tightened it around her hand. Feeling angry, her fingers gave a pulsing squeeze and this time she let the china fly straight to the fireplace. It exploded into various bits of glass before falling to the floor.

Alfred jumped.

Selina stared at him irritably. Then she grabbed his cup from the tea tray and smashed it against the fireplace as well.

 _No._

She started breathing heavy, feeling a sudden destructive urge she felt slipping from her control. Like she couldn't stop herself from the destruction she knew she was about to admit, repeating the never-ending word inside her head.

 _No._

In a fast moment her hands were reaching vigorously as she started throwing everything off the coffee table; the silver antique tea set, the books, the decor. Everything went flying in different directions as she hurled it all away from her sight. When the table was clear she gripped its edge tightly before flipping it with anger to its side-Alfred just watching her in horror and shock, frozen standing unable to stop her. Losing control she yanked the pillows from both couches and sent them flying toward the mandle where the tea cups had been smashed. The soft fabric breaking the fragile things that lay on top. She started kicking over the other pieces of furniture around the room, throwing lamps down as well. Hearing the cracking sounds of their bulbs breaking under force.

Pictures and paintings within her reach she tore down, like an animal yet subconsciously feeling like they no longer mattered. Even the Knight and Shining Armor standing poised by the doorway was not enough to save her outrage-meeting its fate from the sole of her boot and a growl from her throat.

Selina sucked in a breath of air and held her tears inside while she pressed her hands against the back of her head. Making her way to the desk she threw everything in sight-things that she had seen Bruce use and touch so many times before. Even the picture of his late, beautiful mother was not enough to give her pause, now a cracked frame beneath her feet as she crushed the glass into the picture when she stepped.

Still, Alfred, who was now seated in one of the vacant chairs with his hands stiffly in his lap, didn't stop her. Instead, he watched her eyes gravitate to the bulletin board carefully placed and hiding away from company. He felt a nervous flutter go through his chest and he realized he was afraid she'd destroy that too. Breathing a slow sigh of relief as she let it be and started pulling all the books from the shelves. Thomas Wayne's famous collection.

 _No._

She angrily ripped every novel off the shelf by the spine and threw them onto the floor. And when she could no longer reach the ones at her height she started climbing the shelves until she could. Not stopping until the entire room was a mess. She collapsed into the pile of books.

Alfred wanted to scream at her. Not for causing the mess (even if he would be the only one to clean it,) but he hated to see her in so much pain. He opened mouth but said nothing. Watching her breathing heavily in a pile of paper made him realise that screaming wasn't going to do a damn thing.

Same as he, she was silent, and let the board live for another day.

* * *

Selina ran and didn't stop running. She knew if she did she'd easily succumb to the crippling feeling hanging over her. Her legs would fall apart on her and leave her weak just as her ribcage had. Still hearing Alfred's words every time her heart beat. She wouldn't allow herself to think about it. She wouldn't even say the words, not even in her head. There was simply no possible way.

Even when every bit of her flesh and bones screamed for her to stop and her breath became hot, pain throbbing in her lungs feeling like they were going to burst with every quick breath. Though she could feel it through the body she refused to stop. Shoving past everyone in her way while weaving through the fast moving cars that threatened to hit her—blaring their obnoxious horns right in her face. But she didn't care, they could hit her if they wanted.

With her lungs burning hotter she sent cats scurrying in every direction once she reached the place she was fortunate enough to call _home_. She shoved the double doors open, running in with her hands balled into fists around her curls. She collapsed into her bed, screaming into the pillow while feeling tears finally pour through her eyes. She cried into the pillow until she came but for air, her cheeks stained a burning red.

She looked around the room, noting the table close to her bed. All cluttered with little useless things she had stolen. She stared that them empty and started to feel like they really didn't matter anymore; so she leapt from her sheets quick while her hands grabbed for the stolen goods, choking them in the centre of her fists before violently throwing them toward the wall making small indentations in the plaster.

Her hands jumped on the pile of ceiling fragments below her, hurling the rock at the window creating big holes and a decorative floor of broken glass. She tried to find other things to throw around and break with the new anger festering up through her bones. Seething like a wild animal she couldn't stop thinking about it.

 _No._

 _No._

 _No._ She repeated.

 _This is all your fault._

The anger swelled even more and suddenly the only thing she wanted to hurt was herself. So she stormed straight up to the door frame and slammed her head firmly against the wood.

 _No._

 _No._

 _No._

 _You should have been protecting him._

She punched her fist into the wall with rage.

 _No._

 _No._

 _No._

 _Where were you?_

Over and over again.

 _No._

 _Why weren't you there with him?_

Harder and harder.

 _No._

 _No._

"No...no…" She felt snot beginning to build up in her nose, dribbling down like a spigot to her chin. Her knuckles wiped her cheeks where she had felt the hot tears run. Streaks of blood painting her cheeks from the split flesh of her knuckles.

"No, no, no…" she cried to herself.

She went to her bed again, and this time grabbed onto the moth-eaten sheets covering the moldy mattress. She pulled, tearing the covers from their place and throwing them onto the floor.

 _Little useless things._

The pillow had slipped away from the sheets still laying on the mattress. She grabbed for it, and hurled it behind her out of the room.

Beneath it, sat the little angel-winged box she'd stolen from Bruce one night. She had kept it, and tucked it safely under her pillow where no one would look. She picked it up, and rubbed the wings, thinking of him as fresh tears popped into her eyes and she let them fall. He deserved her tears.

The box gave her comfort, but she didn't know why. It was small, but not useless. It was his, or maybe his mother's. His father's perhaps? It looked like maybe a fancy cigarette box of some kind, but she had never looked in it to see what was inside. She never felt the need to, until now.

She turned it over in her fingers. her nails scratching against some fancy engraving. She read it:

 _To my Martha_

 _With love,_

 _Thomas._

 _Bruce's mom smoked?_ She couldn't picture it. But then again, perhaps she could. Then it occurred to Selina, it was possibly something Martha had on her during the night she was murdered, which actually made her really sad. Thinking back and thinking maybe that's why Bruce had it kept so close to his research. Maybe it would have given him a clue, and she had robbed him of it.

She grew angry again, thinking about how Gordon broke his promise, and Bruce was… and everything he had worked so hard for, everything he cared about, was now all for nothing. She hurled the box at the wall where it hit the plaster with a breaking sound. Breaking open, more than a dozen single white pearls spilled out onto the floor before the box could even make it to the ground. They rolled across her filthy floor, some even bounced, and all stopped short at her mattress and shoes. And for a moment, all she could do was stand there.

Her rage stopped, and her breathing slowed as she took the moment in in its entirety. Like the drawer, the moment made her still. Like everything in the world was over was over, and this was all she was ever gonna get out of it. A crappy space, a cluttered floor, starving stomach and bloody knuckles. Lastly, no Bruce. Even when the back of her mind told her he could have followed, could have found her. Found Alfred and spoke to him, told him it was all just a big misunderstand and come to her to tell her as well. But she waited… eyes shut, fists clenched. Alone.

"No, no, no," she muttered to no one.

 _I've got to clean this up._ She thought. Then she scurried to pick up every last goddamn pearl in her shaking fingers.

"No, no no," she cried. Tears dripped down her face and onto Martha's jewellery, causing it slip through her fingers.

 _Every last one._

She stopped picking them up, seeming like a fool for not being able to hold one for not even a second, not even halfway through the lot. She did however, have _one_ in the trembling of her hand, and she braced it tightly. Just one single pearl, trapped in the tight palm of her hand. Shaking, she cried on her knees and leaned over the mess. Loud and messy, afraid someone would hear.

However, someone _did_ hear, and she felt strong arms wrap tightly around her causing her lungs to take in a holding breath. Not even having realized she was holding it in the first place. Her breath shook and her arms wrapped around the arm of a stranger. Her eyes closed, she buried her snot nose into the cotton smelling sleeve.

 _Bruce w_ as her first thought, his clothes always smelled like cotton. But then she realized the figure almost towered over her, almost tucking her into himself, as though to protect her from some unseen threat. Bruce couldn't ever do that, even though he was slightly taller than she.

 _He would never do that._ She corrected.

"It's okay, everything's going to be okay now," it was a British voice. Alfred, he had followed her.

He whispered to her, trying to keep it all together himself as she shed tears onto his sleeve. He wanted to join her, crying his eyes out, curled into an almost stranger on a dirty old floor. But he didn't because the entire situation made him think of Bruce, and how he had to be strong for him. He had to be strong so Bruce could be weak. No, not weak, that isn't right. Bruce was never weak, he was a strong boy, a very, very strong boy.

And now he was gone.

* * *

Sometimes, during the long nights when Selina could never toss and turn her way to bed on empty streets, she found herself wandering around in the ever moving world outside. She would take long walks down the streets carrying a sick feeling inside of her stomach that she couldn't quite place. Feeling nauseous and sad, starving and alone. Feeling like she didn't really have anyone to go to.

Tonight, there was a blizzard. The first of many, coming down hard and sending the workers, the rich, and even the homeless seeking Asylum anywhere it was granted. Not a soul was seen by Selina through the snowfall as she trudged calf deep through the snow. Even the mad people and criminals had given crime a rest for the night.

She shivered, her lips turning blue and fingers becoming numb, shaking icicles in the pockets of her jacket. It was zipped up tight almost up to her chin, a scarf covering her mouth and cheeks, her hood and goggles pulled over her head to keep her hair from getting wet. And while her black attire kept her concealed in the darkest of shadows, it was the pure white snow piling on top of her that gave her away.

There were scrapes on her knees from falling down so many times on the ice, and the bruises and cuts on her knuckles had never been given a chance to heal-red stained on skin. Her eyes bloodshot over dark circles.

She flinched when a couple of bright car headlights whizzed past her, spraying up dirt and snow that hit her in the side.

Eventually, she gave up walking and collapsed into a large snow pile.

Selina couldn't find it in herself to move an inch. So tired and so exhausted she just laid there in the sub-zero cold of the snow. Tucking herself inside like she was ready to give up. Ready for a long sleep. There was a second, and then two. Three more passed by fast, then five. Selina tried to move-to flex some part of her body but she was stiff. Stone like and cold, unable to move even an inch. Then she felt like she couldn't breathe, oxygen becoming trapped in her lungs to the point she almost panicked. Yet, then she found air and was soon breathing both deeply and heavily. The snow making her feel colder the more time passed.

She looked out at the snowy streets, watching another single car breeze by. It frightened her, so much so that she felt tears welling in her eyes, thinking that blaring car lights were probably the last thing Bruce saw. Her mind becoming flooded with the thought.

Seeing Bruce, standing so innocently near the street… focused on something else. Maybe another person. Maybe a street kid. She sees the car coming toward him, skidding from the ice soaked streets… sliding… she tried to scream. Her voice is drowned out by the driver who slams his hand into the horn and loses control but Bruce doesn't react quick enough. Much like Selina… his breath is knocked out of him.

She starts choking as she sees him hit the solid ice, Alfred rearing his head in slow motion too late to watch the front tire manage to roll over him and crush his abdomen into the pavement. Alfred rushes to him with a tender hand on his chest just in time to feel blood coughing up from inside. Begging Bruce to speak and pleading for him to stay still while the blood dribbles down his lips and his chin. Down the crease in his neck until it was soaking his sweater. _Blood,_ she imagined, _may not come out so easily._

In another instance, she saw Bruce being crushed between two cars. A tragic double collision ending in one fatality. Blood oozing from his mouth and down his bottom lip. His arms outstretched over the front hood like he tried to stop the impact himself.

Yet another, he was just hit. A single hit with enough impact that caused too much internal bleeding, causing Bruce to die right before anyone to get to him in time to save his life. She sees Alfred towering over him, screaming his name and trying to do absolutely everything he can to save Bruce's before it's too late. And she sees Bruce… coughing and moaning in agony over the accident, withering on the sidewalk ice like a broken child. She sees him take his last breath before the visual vanishes along with him.

She wonders if he felt any pain. She wonders if he felt anything at all… and questions how long it took for him to pass. Where he was, and if he was truly alone…

 _Will I ever see him again?_

Not in this life.

That, she decided as snow coated her lashes, was the most difficult part. Her life would continue on without him, even if she found the idea unbearable. It was because he had touched her life in a way so deeply that she could now never return to what it was before she met him. There was just no possible way. How could she imagine living a life without her _best friend?_ She was unable to understand why but let without no other choice. The world was going to continue on without Bruce Wayne inside it, leaving Selina coughing in the dust.

Suddenly, the cold of the snow began to feel so warm…

* * *

She wasn't sure how much time had passed. How little cars had driven by. Or exactly how cold it was, but she still hadn't moved.

Even when a pair of stranger's hands reached for her and carried her away.

* * *

It had taken Alfred some time to clean the manor of Selina's destructive mess. Quite a long time, enough so he lost count.

It wasn't really the mess itself, for he had taken care of a similar tornado during the time Bruce was still alive. However, that was the real trouble. Not only could he venture into the room without thinking of Bruce, but he also couldn't stop picturing the mess he'd made searching for evidence. The night they discovered the cave under the house.

He had swept up the broken glass first because he imagined that if Bruce was still alive, he could potentially cut himself and get hurt. He also thought about Selina, if she ever found herself trespassing again, he wanted her to be safe.

When he moved to the stack of shelves, every book felt abnormally heavy in his hands, then he would throw them as Selina had because the weight was too much to bare. Then he would try again, and this time actually put one or two on the shelves before having to tear them all down again because they weren't in the right order. Then he would break for tea because he was too tired, abandoning the cup right after preparation, forgetting to return until it was cold.

Sometimes, he would prepare a meal, forgetting Bruce was gone. And once he realized it he would sit down at the empty dining table that he hadn't really sat at since the Waynes died. He would take a bite of whatever he prepared before he tasted nothing, and the platter would be swept away by the force of his hand to join the rest.

Tonight he was driving through a blizzard after having been from the store to buy some groceries, which he can't understand for the damn life of him why he decided to go buy groceries right before a blizzard. Perhaps because he hadn't turned on the T.V in days. Too risky, he figured. So here he was, driving out in the middle of a snowstorm with white flakes caking on the windshield and a backseat full of food he knew he was never going to eat.

Since the drive was so menacingly slow he kept constantly peering around at the world before him, watching the snow piling up and picturing what it would look like once it was all done. With his fingers curling around tighter against the steering wheel he caught sight of someone laying in the ice cold snow.

For a moment he thought it was Bruce, and yelled to him before realizing that wasn't possible. His mind most likely playing tricks on him as a result of many sleepless nights. And when he blinked, Bruce was gone and he saw someone else curled in the snowfall. Almost… concealed by it. He yelled to them before he realized they probably couldn't hear him from inside the car, so he stopped dead in the middle of the road muttering English profanity under his breath before exiting the vehicle to assist if necessary.

Immediately the snow began to cover him, as though it was trying to bury him too. He walked steadily, nearly slipping on the snow beneath his feet, but made it to the curb and realized Selina was the figure lying in the snow. He almost didn't recognize her.

"What the bloody hell you doing out here?" he asked her in a regular tone of voice. She just stared at him, a blank expression that wasn't even looking at him, but into nothingness. She did nothing as he approached her, didn't even flinch like she didn't realize he was standing over her. "Are you alright?"

He looked into her eyes that were like two lifeless slits, and he feared for just a moment that she might already be dead.

"Let's get you up then, alright?" He didn't even wait for an answer.

* * *

Alfred was strong, he knew that after spending so many years in the Air Force; so picking a very young and very thin Selina Kyle from out of the cold was nothing compared to what he normally used to lift. She was light, and it could only remind him of one thing…

He carried her back to the car quickly, setting her down gently in the backseat and throwing an old blanket overtop of her. Her skin had started turning blue.

When she finally came together the first thing Selina could realize was that the air around her was warm, the lighting low. She groaned and touched a cold hand to her forehead, noticing someone had placed a warm towel against her skin, and wrapped gauze around her knuckles. She realized she was lying down flat on a leather couch, sitting up she understood it belonged to Bruce. There was an afghan draped around her body. Once again, she was in the manor.

There were candles occupying the coffee table beside her, their bright flames flickering wildly from side to side. Everything that had once been placed on the table, sat piled instead in the corner of the other couch across from her. When she glanced around it seemed almost everything had been put back in its proper place, and what wasn't had been placed in the designated area; like the stacks of things sitting atop Bruce's desk and the paintings that sat in a long row along the wall. If she squinted her eyes hard enough she could see holes in the wall where the nails had torn through.

Her attention snapped toward Alfred, whom she heard just as he strided in carrying what seemed to be a tray of hot soup and a cup of tea.

"Oh good, you're finally awake." He set the tray down on the table in front of her. "I'll admit, I wasn't sure how long you'd be gone for." She shook her head slightly from side to side, not understanding him but he ignored it and said nothing as he sat beside her.

She tried to swing her legs over the couch but found it difficult, the towel on her forehead slipped down and Alfred grabbed for it, beginning to dab it over her face. She pushed his hand away.

"I'm only trying to help you," he told her and reached out to touch her again, but the glare she gave him told him to do otherwise so he sighed gently and let his hands fall into his lap.

She glanced around the room again. "Man, he really did it this time didn't he?"

Alfred said nothing and gave her a blank look instead, placing the towel to the side of him and putting his hands together, rubbing them because he didn't know what to say. He looked at her food. "You should eat now," he motioned toward the untouched soup. "Exactly how long has it been since you've eaten?"

She couldn't guess the answer while she kept glancing around the room, looking for something. Then she decided to take him up on his offer. Cupping the warm bowl of soup with her hands she ignored the silver spoon laid out for her. Beginning to drink, slowly at first until hunger took over and she was spilling the soup down her throat until every last drop was gone. When she was done she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and set the bowl back down on the tray.

She looked directly up to Alfred and asked: "So where's Bruce?"

* * *

Given the state of shock he had found her in, he was not surprised by her question in the least. And while it was still very difficult and painful to tell the tale again, he did so calmly, and this time trying to grab her hands and prevent her impulsive rage. Like the first time, anything within reach became a projectile.

She was up again, this time Alfred watched her go straight to Bruce's murder board. She yanked it from its hiding place with her hand latching onto a single piece of thin paper he could see from afar.

"Stop!" he yelled before she could tear it down and rip it to shreds. "It was the only thing he cared about!"

For a moment she just stood there with the paper still crushed tightly in her hand. "It wasn't the only thing," she whispered releasing her grip on the paper. It remained crumpled in its place. She stared at him and sighed. "Whatever, I'm leaving."

"You're not bloody going anywhere," he nearly shouted at her.

She scoffed, clearly she wasn't used to anyone parenting her as he did. "What did you say to me?"

"Do you have any idea how I found you, hm?" He motioned his hands out in front of her like he expected answers. "You were in a state of complete and total shock, you would have died out there." He gave her a moment to consider it. "Now, you're still not well. You need rest and food, so why don't you just lie down?"

"Why don't you _bite me_?!" She snapped.

He ignored her rudeness. "Just sit back down, and I'll fetch you some more hot tea-" He gathered her first cup that wasn't even cold.

"Damn it, Alfred, stop with the tea!" She shouted. "It won't fix it! It won't bring him back! Look," she tried to reason, "I'd just rather go home."

"Or go back out there and get yourself killed," he wagered. "Is that what you want? I mean is that what you're trying to do, kill yourself and join him, eh?'

She stared at him with a disgusted look curling at her lips. "No."

"Well it certainly seems so."

"What do you care?!" she yelled. "It's not even like you like me anyway! So why do you give a damn whether I die or not?"

He wanted to run and grab her by the shoulders, shake her so hard with all the anger he felt building up inside of him and tell her how wrong she was. "I care," he said sternly. "Despite whatever you believe, I care."

He wanted to say more. He wanted to tell her how much she impacted Bruce's life, and whether she knew it or not, that meant everything to him. He wanted to tell her that when he looked at her, all he saw was Bruce in her eyes. He wanted to tell her that he was actually quite fond of her in a slight way, that she was like _a breath of fresh air_. He was afraid to tell her he didn't want to be alone.

"Well you can stay," he suggested. "There's plenty to eat and a warm fire. Certainly, it's better than being out there," he motioned toward the snowy window.

She considered it, a smile almost on her lips before it was gone again and she declined. "No thanks."

He stopped her again and startled her by doing so.

"You don't think I miss him too!" His voice cracked. "Everywhere I bloody look, he's all I see! I can't look into your eyes, and not see the eyes of that little boy!" He could tell she was surprised by his outburst. "Now, sit down because you're not going anywhere."

She just stared at him, blinking in shock and confusion because she didn't know what to say.

"I'm-" He felt dizzy, bracing himself against the arm of the couch before falling down to his knees. "I'm sorry." He started crying.

This time it was Selina's job to comfort, towering over him with protective arms. She closed her eyes and rested her head on his back, feeling his movement as he sobbed and feeling her own tears yet again.

"I'm so sorry…"

He found himself remember his words to Bruce during the time of his parent's deaths:

" _Don't look, head up, eyes forward. Don't let them see you cry."_

 _Why did he ever say that? Why didn't he just pick him up and carry him in his arms like he wanted to? He should have just picked him up like the small fragile boy he was._

He wished he could take it all back.

* * *

A week later, the memorial for Bruce was finally held. It took some time on Alfred's part, as before he felt it was much too soon. But he finally came to understand that waiting around wasn't going to change things in the least.

" _If now's not a good time, when is?"_ Detective Gordon's had asked him one morning. Somehow, he found himself too preoccupied with the world around him and didn't make it to the service that morning.

It was private, where only a few souls were invited and very few showed up to see the casket of Bruce Wayne descend into the ground and then buried over snow and soil. Now standing impeccably straight, Alfred no longer stood in front of Bruce Wayne as he used to, but now the grave marker that occupied his place instead.

 _Bruce Wayne_

 _Beloved son and friend_

 _2004-2016_

 _Beloved son and friend._

He mulled the words over in his head as if a few simple four words conjured out of a combination of nineteen letters could sum up what he was, the dash between his years; _his whole entire life._ Right beside his mother and father.

It didn't rain that day, which was strange. The sky was so clear and sunny it made him think that somehow all of this was just a dream, and that he wasn't really here. He wasn't really doing these things… that the tragedy seated out in front of him has never really happened. However, he knew sunny skies meant only one thing.

"I'm sorry Alfred," Tom placed a firm hand on his backside before leaving him alone.

He waited for the ground beneath his feet to swallow him whole, and when it didn't, he slowly began to realize something.

Selina had never made it to the service.

It wasn't until the day following, that Alfred found out why.

 _Cats mewed themselves at his feet from starvation, pawed at his ankles, and sniffed at the ground begging for anything that resembled food._

" _Alright, alright. You buggers." He set the three sets of brown paper grocery bags at his feet and fetched a big bag of cat food from one. He tore it open, nearly spilling the food all over the place, however managing to haul the bag over to the wall where he dumped a generous amount along the baseboard. They all rushed to it like salvages, a little kitten getting caught in the mix. Alfred sighed and plucked a handful of food from the bag, setting it down in a delicate pile in front of the little kitten._

 _Gathering up the remaining bags he knocked gently on Selina's door with his knuckles. He could hear conversation on the other end._

" _Miss Kyle… It's me, Alfred Pennyworth. Could you open up?" He stood there listening, hearing the silence snap the conversation shut, followed by the shuffling of feet. "Miss Kyle…"_

 _The door opened up only slightly, and he saw a pale face concealed by a mass of tangled red hair. When the little girl realized who it was she opened up the door more revealing her tattered clothing and scuffed shoes. She seemed so small to him standing there in the doorway._

 _He peered inside for a moment, seeing the kid him and Detective Bullock had interrogated as they were looking for Bruce; Mackey, he's sure he remembers his name. He looked back down at Ivy._

" _You're Miss Ivy, aren't you?" He asked._

" _Y-yes." Her voice sounded hoarse. "Can I help you?"_

" _Well I'm looking for Miss Selina, is she around?"_

" _Cat?" She seemed confused._

 _He knelt down beside her, setting the bags at her feet. "Yes, Cat," he clarified. "Do you know where I might find her?"_

" _Cat's dead," she said at once. "She died two days ago."_

 _He was taken aback, so much so he couldn't get the words out. Struck with newfound pain and terror in his heart. "I'm sorry Miss, what did you say?"_

" _They aren't sure how," Mackey interjected. Ivy and Alfred turned to look at him. "The cops," he clarified. "Ivy and I came looking for her one day, to check up on her, I heard that Wayne kid died,_ _ **Bruce**_ _," he said trying not to sound disrespectful. "I'm sorry about that by the way."_

 _His words stung._

" _So anyway, we came looking for her, but when we got here the cops were already dragging her body out on a stretcher. I guess one of the other kids around here must have called or something. I don't really know. We didn't get a chance to see her, all we saw was her being covered up by a white sheet."_

 _He tried to picture it, almost being able to imagine cops carrying out a non-feral Selina Kyle, it was almost too comical for him. The only thing he couldn't however, was seeing what she would look like under that_ _ **white sheet.**_

" _I think the cops still have her," he said trying to sound hopeful in such a hopeless time. "Hard to place someone in a place they don't belong…"_

" _Right…" He swallowed the lump in his throat. "I-I see…" He pulled at the cuffs on his shirt. "Well, I guess these are for you then." He pushed the bags of groceries toward them both, Mackey, who had been sitting on Selina's bed the entire time got up to collect them._

" _Mew."_

" _Yo, Red the cat!" Mackey pointed past Alfred with the bags in hand._

" _Oh! Bruce!"_

 _Wha-_

 _She scurried past Alfred and scooped up the tiny black kitten in her arms that Alfred had seen earlier._

" _Bruce?" he questioned turning back toward Mackey, who sat the bags on a nearby table. When Alfred glanced around he saw the room hadn't been cleaned since the last time he was here._

" _Yeah, Cat named him."_

" _She found him," Ivy said entering back in the home. "In some kind of alley. She said the poor guy was getting harassed by some thugs who were going to cut him to shreds." She set the kitten down where it scurried directly to Alfred, placing its head into the palm of his hand._

 _He picked the kitten up in his arms as he stood, clutching the thing close to his chest. He listened to its soft purring while feeling his soft fur between his fingers._

 _ **Bruce.**_

He went to the police station immediately after. Where Gordon presented him with such a small box. A small box that held the entirety of Selina Kyle; her clothing, and any other things she had on her during her silent departure.

"This is all we have," he said poking a hand through the box, shifting around the contents of clothing. "It's not much."

Alfred stuck a hand through her things, finding the colour of her leather jacket that he rubbed between his fingers. "Did she…." He couldn't ask. He didn't want to know. But he had to.

"No, nothing like that," he assured, predicting what Alfred was going to ask. "But we just… we just don't know. We did a full autopsy and found nothing. It's almost like she just _died._ "

"Just died," Alfred copied with a hint of question in his voice.

"Yeah," Jim nodded. "She did have something on her when we found her though," he stuck a hand through her clothing again and rifled through to the bottom, "this…" he produced a silver smoking box and Alfred recognized it instantly.

"That's Martha Wayne's." He took it from Gordon's hands.

"She must have stolen it. It was clutched in her hand when we found her."

"No no," Alfred whispered. "She-she didn't steal this," he said more loudly so Gordon could hear him.

"Well… if there isn't anything else you need, I've got a case I've gotta get back to." He turned to leave the old man alone before he was stopped.

"Wait!"

"What?" He spun around.

"Her body-what will become of it?" He wondered.

"Well um…" He struggled to find an answer and walked back over to Alfred to buy himself some time. "We're not really sure yet, I've tried seeing if Selina had any family, but she doesn't. And much of the foster families she'd ever lived with didn't want her either so we've got no one to claim the body."

"I'll do it," Alfred said at once, he was holding the little box close to his abdomen, rubbing the metal for comfort. "I-I'll take care of the funeral, and I want her to be buried next to him."

"I'll right, then it's settled," he pushed the box of clothing further toward him. "The body is yours."

He started walking away again.

"Wait!" Alfred called a second time. Again, Gordon turned in his direction. "You can do that. Pour yourself into your job, but I know you're hurting… and no matter what you do, how many cases you solve, or how many people you put away. You can _never_ change what happened to him. You should also be ashamed of yourself, for not coming by to see him. Downright ashamed."

Without another word, Gordon left.

Alfred wandered down to the autopsy room where it was cold. He found Leslie there dressed in a white coat with black slacks. Her short hair was tucked behind her ear, so it wasn't in her face as she read the lab report in front of her.

She was just as pretty as when they met. But that wasn't the point.

He straightened out his vest before stepping inside, and she recognized him the moment he walked in.

"Alfred." Her voice was still as sweet. "Are you here for-" she motioned toward one of the body chambers.

"Uh yes," he wasn't sure if they were on the same page or not. Stupid, considering who else in the world would he be there for.

"Jim mentioned her and Bruce were close," she said as she opened one of the compartments sliding Selina's body out; her head appeared first.

He took the quiet moment between Leslie and himself to look at her. Her skin was bare, and almost as pale as the snow still accumulating outside. Her eyes, dead open were staring up at him though now there was no one left inside. Her lips had turned a purple colour and there was stitching peeking out from beneath the cloth that covered her, right between her breasts where she had been cut open. _Was it really necessary to cut her open?_ Leslie started speaking again, but Alfred wasn't listening.

"We um…when they found her body, we thought that maybe it was a suicide," her voice cracked when she said the words. "But there isn't any indication of suicide. No marks at the wrist, no gunshot wound, no pills in her system to indicate an overdose. It's like she just… died."

Again, that same idea. Could a person just… die? Alfred wondered for some strange reason if lying on her back as such, was the position they had found her in.

"What- _how_ did you find her?"

"On her side," she answered directly. "She was curled up into a ball like she'd been that way for a while… and she was clutching something in her hand, a little silver box."

When she mentioned the box he gave it a gentle squeeze from the inside of his pocket.

"Would you like a moment alone?" Leslie inquired.

Alfred gave a gentle nod and looked up at her. "Please, Miss."

She disappeared from the room leaving him alone.

He directed his attention back down to Selina when Leslie was gone. Her face looked to be lost, like she was thinking about something. or sad because she was dead. Though, he had read somewhere that sometimes people don't know when they've passed on from the living. He wondered if it was the same for Selina, though he hoped otherwise. Looking deep into her eyes he found nothing. A deep, endless sea.

Alfred gave her a gentle smile.

"What," he asked as if she was actually looking at him by choice. "No snide comments now?" He chuckled at his own joke before breaking down into full tears. First, he lost one child, and now another.

Quickly he straightened himself and dried his face with the handkerchief he had tucked away in his back pocket. He fetched the silver box from his other pocket before giving himself another moment's peace.

"Better hold on tight to this now," he told her. He reached across her corpse to grasp the thin sheet that covered her, gently pulling it back, he stopped when he saw her arm and tucked the sheet carefully in between her arm and side. Her fingers were curled close together from holding the box with her life, and they had been pulled open as the cops pried it from her hand. "Because you don't want to lose it again." He tucked the box firmly back in her hand before closing her fingers around it, and he held her hand for a second, and then two, and then three before returning the sheet to where it was before. She felt as cold as she looked.

"Can I ask you something?" He turned to see that Leslie had returned and was now hovering close to the door.

"Why yes," he answered in a low tone of voice.

"They were really close, weren't they, Selina and Bruce?"

"Yes." _They were best friends._

"Did they love each other?"

 _Love? What did that word really mean? Love…_

He became flustered, completely caught off guard by her question."Well, I don't-"

"Because I don't think she just died," Leslie confessed to him. "I think… if what Jim told me was true, that her body possibly just _shut down._ "

He considered it for a moment.

 _Was it possible, for such a body, such a_ _ **life,**_ _to just completely give up on its person? To have so little reason left to continue that it would die without warning?_

"I'm sorry Doctor, but I'm a bit confused. What are you saying?"

Leslie approached him slowly then, one by one her heels clicked against the floor creating the only sound echoing along the walls. Her body swayed itself side to side while she walked, stopping just at Selina's head. Her fingers rested on the cool metal to which Selina laid in an eternal rest, she was careful not to touch her.

She spoke to him in almost a whisper. "Do you believe someone could die of a broken heart?"

To answer his earlier question, the answer was _"yes."_

* * *

Nobody showed up to the day of Selena's funeral. It was a pity, but she would have expected it.

However, Gordon did make a slight appearance by the time her casket was being lowered into a hole in the ground. He was parked outside the cemetery gates because he couldn't find it in himself to go inside.

He was surprised when he didn't see Alfred present, which prompted him to drive all the way to the manor to check up on him.

An hour later, he discovered why Alfred had not made it. It was because he just _didn't_ make it. He came to understand, as the paramedics were hauling his body away from home on a stretcher, that Alfred had died only one hour prior to when he was discovered. It was the gardener who discovered him.

And much like Selina, he just died.

* * *

No one hurt worse than another after Bruce's death. Everyone took it personally.

Jim Gordon quit the force the day after discovering Alfred's body. While a part of him screamed at himself every morning to continue on and fight harder because it was the right thing to do and what Bruce would have wanted, another piece of him had already quit the moment Bruce died. He just wasn't ready to take the final step until now. Everything he'd worked for seemed so useless after Bruce's death, and he'd lost all hope the moment it happened.

It wasn't until two long years later, in which he found himself ready to return.

It had happened when he was strolling by the cemetery and felt a strange pull directing him inside. Oddly enough, he found himself at five separate graves without even meaning to.

 _Thomas Wayne  
_

 _Martha Wayne  
_

 _Bruce Wayne  
_

 _Selina Kyle_

 _Alfred Pennyworth_

To him. it was a sign and all he needed.

The following day after he was reinstated, he revisited the graves again and placed his badge on the surface of Bruce's headstone. He pressed it into the stone gently with his hand laying overtop as he whispered new promises. Ones he hoped to keep and hoped that Bruce could hear them.

When he felt a chill of wind past his neck, he smiled, and somehow knew he'd been forgiven.

Then he got a call, another murder. To him, it almost sounded exact to Bruce's situation more than two years ago, but it wasn't.

What had happened to Bruce was his own personal tragedy, not someone's else's. Not even his own despite the fact that it was his first ever case and it fueled his life.

He nodded to Bruce and left.

A man on a mission, his life seemed to begin all over again. When he exited the cemetery gates a vision flashed through his mind.

He saw Bruce and Selina playing tag along the cemetery grounds, Bruce's parents and Alfred sipping tea nearby as they were watching the children play.

But when he turned around, no one was there.

 _"Almost  
_

 _Not quite._

 _I wish you a long and happy life."  
_

 _-The Lovely Bones_


	9. Is it Strange

**From the mind of Bruce Wayne. Inspired by Gotham; Season 3 Episode 1.**

* * *

 _Is it strange that I imagine_

 _Growing older with Selina?_

 _A dream I constantly find myself_

 _Imagining during the tough times._

 _A dream, where I often see myself_

 _Grown, having enough strength to_

 _Lift Selina over my shoulders and_

 _Spin her around as children do._

 _I'd see her wearing that red shirt_

 _She wore that time I caught her_

 _On the roof. It was different_

 _And I liked it._

 _She'd wear, of course,_

 _Her old leather jacket over everything._

 _In my dream she is laughing and_

 _Smiling as I twirl her around_

 _Among a fresh field of grass._

 _She, hitting my backside with_

 _Her fists, begging to be put down._

 _I do, and when I see her smiling_

 _And her lush amount of golden,_

 _Blond curls that I admire so,_

 _I become consumed with nothing_

 _Less than happiness._

 _I almost consider it impossible_

 _The feeling of being happy._

 _I pull a leaf from her hair._

 _Admire the sunshine on her face._

 _Then I awake,_

 _And my dream is over._


	10. that it Was All A Dream?

_Again, I find myself in Gotham,_

 _As I have all other times near the end._

 _Where dreams and people_

 _Die slowly, and painfully._

 _Where I am not strong **enough**._

 _I cannot lift Selina over my shoulder._

 _I cannot spin her around._

 _She isn't wearing a red shirt._

 _The only thing surrounding is_

 _Is a field of fresh **glass**._

 _The only thing hitting my backside_

 _Are the blows and attacks_

 _Of a stranger who I do not know,_

 _But understand I stole from._

 _Selina is screaming to be let go,_

 _And when she is,_

 _When everything that is awful_

 _Is finally over…_

 _There is no smile on her lips,_

 _Or my own. Only blood._

 _I feel emotions of rage, anger_

 _And fingers curled in hatred._

 _No love or friendship._

 _No happiness._

 _No leaf in Selina's curls, having_

 _Lost their colour in the passing days._

 _No sunshine in the sky._

 _Only grey clouds of hopelessness._

 _They tease and taunt us relentlessly._

 _Yet still, we keep on fighting._

 _Still, we push, with childlike bodies,_

 _Meant for nothing more than play._

 _I awake,_

 _But the dream continues._

 _Never being final it soon_

 _Turns into a nightmare._

 _Beginning anew, fresh._

 _All over again,_

 _And I realize, a person_

 _With so much happiness_

 _And joy,_

 _Can only be found_

 _In the comfort_

 _Of a dream._


	11. I Am Suicide

**_**Written from Bruce Wayne's Point of View, taking place in the first season of Gotham, and contains graphic depictions of suicide and self-harm.**_**

* * *

 _"I was_ pain _. That's all I was. Everything else, every chance given to me, every promise I'd made, all of it was_ pain _. And what use is_ pain _? What use is being just pain? It's not dignified. It's not kind. And if it's not dignified and it's not kind, then maybe it's not worth anything. Maybe it's better off as nothing. Gone. Dead._

 _I was ten. I got one of my father's razor blades, and I got down. I put the metal on my wrist. The edge scratching something cold. The blood on my hand. And I looked up. To Mother and Father. I told them I was sorry. I was so sorry. I was on my knees in Gotham. And I was praying, pushing my hands together now, the blood and the blade warm between them. I_ preyed _. And no one-no one answered. No one answered. I was alone. Like everyone else. Like everyone in Gotham. I saw everyone in Gotham, all of us. We're all on our knees, our hands together, the blood and the blade warm between them. We_ prey _. And no one answers. I saw. And I understood. Finally. Kindness. Dignity. I let the razor fall, and I understood, it was done. I'd done it. I'd survived. My life was no longer my life, and I whispered-_

 _"I swear by the spirits of my parents to avenge their deaths by spending the rest of my life warring off all criminals."_

 _So that's what it is. The ears. The belt. The gargoyle. It's not funny. It's the choice of a boy. The choice to die. I am Batman. I am Suicide."_

 _-Batman #12 "I am Suicide;" taken from a private and personal letter from Bruce to Selina,_

 _With love._

* * *

I remember feeling small. I remember my mom and dad-vivid imaginations of them and myself. Happy bursts of memory that I could see through all angles of my mind. Bright visions of the three of us smiling and so very happy… I remember seeing those beautiful visions mixed in with the drive to school-the sun and shine combined with grey. Other children and their parents intertwined with my parents and I. The many voices inside my head would mix with Alfred's from the front seat of the car; his eyes when he would look at me through the rear-view mirror would replace with my father's pale blue irises. I remember thinking about all those times in my head and wondering if I could ever bring them back somehow. Would anything ever be the same? No. But that didn't mean they couldn't be better again, for all the people of Gotham.

I wasn't sure how to bring the happiness back. I wasn't sure how to restore Gotham back into something found in the far back corners of my mind. But, I knew that Gotham wasn't just a city. It wasn't just a place on a map, with streets, and people, and road signs covered in red crime. Gotham was a soul; a thing with a beating, bleeding heart, and it was a thing that demanded a sacrifice be made. A sacrifice for someone to give themselves up for the good of those around them. So I made a choice. Yes. It wasn't a relatively good choice. It was not a happy choice. It was a choice that was going to hurt people. However, it was my choice to make.

So, I thought about it for the rest of my day, unintentionally envisioning those memories of my mother and father. Their passing… as they were lying dead in the street with their blood rushing into all the little cracks in between the pavement. I thought about how angry I'd been, and myself and the man who had killed them. Screaming and fighting and _begging_ with God to set things right. But he didn't answer me. No one did and I was alone. Until I remembered Alfred and how he held me tight after that tragic night… his comforting words that were keeping me calm. And the Good Detective, Jim Gordon. The one police force in the city who cared, but whose personal interests and afflictions where not enough to help.

I pretended in the times I wasn't thinking about _it_ … in the moments I knew where to be my last. I pretended to be part of the public people. Taking my notes in school, joking with people I considered my "friends," and taking part in the smallest actions that make everyone human. Knowing the seemingly small hours that passed by, I wasn't entirely sure what would make them count more. What could make them last longer?

 _He swallows, putting a hand over his eyes and nodding his head back with a groan in his throat. Alfred is sitting in a chair beside his bed. Arms folded and his_ ageing _eyes shut tight from wariness. Bruce feels pain pulsing from both his wrists-a twin-like numbing feeling coming from beneath his bandages. He breaths slow… feeling both weak and tired._

Alfred drove me home afterwards as he usually does, muttering on about his day's tasks from the front seat of the car where again, I see my father's eyes in the rearview mirror as he waits for me to respond. Unfortunately, being lost of anything more to say. Realization setting in earlier than I anticipated. I'm already too far away from him and the car ride anyway. No way for him to hear me from such a long distance. So I just let him drive. We go through the city as I look out the window, my vision turning from bright to dark. The people through the window shifting from young to old, men to women, the rich… and the poor. The scenes inside and outside the glass shifting from old to new. Faces changing shape and building changing pattern.

It was _beautiful_. Both sides that I was seeing through my mind's eye. Just beautiful. Gotham, honest and true. Dark and horrible but beautiful its own way. I could see it from the car… I believe I was the only one. For a moment, I even smiled at the sight of something I was going to soon leave behind. I was giving up all _Her_ beauty so _She_ could get better. My sacrifice was going to save her. Gotham would remain tall and beautiful… because I was leaving Her all behind.

We made it home and the first thing I did was head into my father's favourite room; his study. The living room if we were ever entertaining company. The place where I did my homework. Where my mother would read to me. Where Alfred would take his tea and a good book, followed by my father's disappearing in the strange hours of the night. I did my chores there. I had dinner with Alfred afterwards in the kitchen where we sat at a table made for two instead of four. All the while unable to stop thinking about what I was going to do… thinking about how I was going to do it. Mixing it in with the past remembrances of my parents, images of myself… the then and now… the future I could almost clearly see after it was all over. After my sacrifice.

I remember the water running inside the bathtub….

 _Filling up the bottom… holding itself all inside. The way it used to do when his mother turned the faucet on. Where she bathed him after a long day._

The way the air in the room felt… all…

 _Hot. He was already perspiring, which made_ him _remember the way his mother's voice sounded in his ears-telling him how flushed he looked from the water. Then she'd let it_ drain _until there was nothing left then a drop… and wrap him in a towel, and sing him to sleep._

When I saw myself in the mirror…

 _Staring very… blank. Depression beginning to soon sink in unexpectedly. He stood before his reflection and knew it was the end. He nodded to himself with gentle approval. He pulled back the cabinet mirror…_

And I reached in for something that had been untouched for the longest time…

 _His father's razor. The blades shined, and they called for him… encouraging him on. He grabbed onto it, forced it apart and the razors sang into his fingertips. He picked one. Cool and sharp… and he brought it to the bathtub that was already so close to overflowing. He pressed his father's razor firmly between his fingers… squeezing his eyes tightly and biting his lip._

I can remember I told Alfred I was going to take a bath before bed. I left him reading his favourite murder mystery in the dark luminescence of the study. The dark light all around him…

 _That followed Bruce and shrouded his actions… seeing them so clearly too…_

I remember being afraid.

 _He was scared._

I remember seeing…

 _Selina. So beautiful and so happy… smiling and laughing-the most wonderful sound he's ever heard. And then he feels her on his backside… touching him gently, and it makes him hurt worse because… he loves her… and now he's going to hurt her…_

My face is dry now, from the…

 _Tears… that came down his face as he thought of her… and when he thought about Alfred… and his mom, and his dad, and Jim Gordon. And then all he could feel was…_

Pain.

 _His father's razor, that was so shiny and like new, bit down hard on Bruce's wrist upon his command. It sucked the blood from his veins that came rushing willingly out into the open dim light. Now spilling down his wrists and across his fingers in a tainted black colour. Bruce was struck with a sudden sense of peace, soon crying… tears coming down his cheeks like he was a baby again. Breathing deep into his decision. Looking down at the poisonous waters._

I made a promise.

 _A vow._

To them.

 _All of them… His Mom and Dad, how sorry he was to have done such a thing. A necessary and terrible thing. He prayed to them… he prayed for them. Selina and Alfred. Saying he was sorry and thinking for the faintest second how it would soon all be over. As the blood feverishly rushed down his palm and fingertips… shining against the razor now streaked in red._

 _Crimson finally dropped down the tips of his nails-staining the water. It overflowed the basin, rushing now with blood._

I felt…

 _Tired, and shaky… The water now staining his school clothes. Now staining his mother's floor and the rug. Almost distracted by silly matters he reminded himself that it had to be done. He had to put all his pain and all his suffering into the sacrifice for Gotham. It had to be done. So she helped him turn his weapon over using his scarred flesh, helping him cut just as hard and deep as the first time. Puncturing his thin wrist just perfectly enough that his blue veins severed in two. Skin so largely splitting open while his body cried out in a roar of gushing blood where his lips could only stay silent. He felt the pain… so much… until then it was gone…_

Gotham's beating heart was bleeding out.

 _There was a ringing in his ears, and again he felt far away. The visions of his friends and family fading away with every second and drop of blood that passed by… He closed his eyes… his hands feeling warm…_

 _The blade slipped away from him, completing its final task… sinking way deep under the red of the water… He heard a voice… and felt himself being pulled away…_

 _He was looking up toward the ceiling… at the light…_

 _And when he finally awoke he was surrounded by it… everywhere. From all angles, it engulfed him in purity and goodness. For the first time, he finally felt free… until something changed. Shifting and leaving him behind in confused circles as it was Gotham that became his company. The City. He could see Her now, in all beauty and wretchedness. The madness… all close together in one space around him. He could see it all… The cracks, the crime, and the people… All the people._

 _And somewhere far beyond it all, he could see a white light, like a shining star. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and_ marvelled _at what he had done, staring out towards the bright light but not going near it. He smiled at it like it were an old friend._

 _There was a feeling than… coming from his hands-his wrists, which he checked. Vividly seeing the sacrifice he'd made stained in deep red. He noticed the blade at his feet. The light in front of him… it was growing brighter. Reaching out_ to _him…_

I woke up after that, staring at the bright lights that belonged to a hospital instead of my own home. The city no longer in my perfect sight as it once was. I was inside of it. Beside Alfred sleeping in a chair. I looked at him before closing my eyes and putting a hand on them to cover the hospital light blinding me. I felt the pressure building in my head as I swallowed the dryness in my throat, and I shifted ever so slightly in the hospital bed to which I was bound.

I felt a gentle thumping inside of my wrist, like a heartbeat. A heartbeat that told me I was alive. I looked at the bandages around my wrist. White, new and thick. Hiding the scars I had created with my own hand. I could have ripped them off, but I knew I was the only one that was going to understand why. I shifted my gaze toward Alfred, who was still sound asleep. Slouched over in the orange plastic chair with imperfect posture and his tired eyes closed shut. I watched him, staring at the man who had known me my entire life-even more so than my own parents. Yet even as he knew me, I knew he was never going to understand the reasons behind what I did. He was never going to understand the boy I killed and why I felt alone with the knowledge.

I noticed a half glass of clear water sitting idly on the table beside the both of us. I reached for it-stretching with my new self to sooth my throat. I touched the glass without a sound… and his eyes opened; slowly at first, then they became wide as he reached for my bandaged wrist and held it tight between his hand. His palm slipped over mine, now clean… He pulled me into a hug, muttering to me about my actions. I cried along with him as our emotions came down hard. Whispering I was sorry for what I had done but also for the things he could never understand. My choice to end the life of a boy so that something else could live.


	12. Her Mother

**"You may love a stray, but you can never keep them."**

 **-Catwoman #4**

It was close to two in the morning when his old eyes shot open and for a second his heart jumped from panic. Unaware of where he was with his fingers ruffling empty sheets; just in the dark of some room with the door shut and the curtains drawn back. Total darkness split in sheets of black from the pale of the full moonlight. Yet, he settled soon enough feeling the weight of a human body along his chest. A woman, slowly remembering who he'd been with and what they did. Her mother. Chest rising against his, perfect thin fingers laid to gentle rest against his chest, her all too fragile and thin body folded into his. Their scars fitting together in all the right places. Her leg was curled over his with her head and hair resting in the crook of his arm that was folded over her bare back.

His fingers curled into her flesh, gently as he tried to recall how it happened:

They had been dancing... in the kitchen when he really should have been putting the dinner dishes away. However, a classical song that he was once so deeply in love with had come on the radio station provided by the stereo in the kitchen. He'd been humming along with the tune in quiet solidarity when she caught him—started helping with the wash. Soon, getting caught along the skin on his forearms. His sleeves in particular which normally would have been rolled neatly to his wrists where now drawn back to his elbows. Not even the soapy, slick coating along his skin could hide the scars. He caught her staring for a moment, but had nothing to say, though grateful as she was equally silent, and touched with he watched her pulling up her own sleeves—revealing a lot of her own scars to share. While his were thick and deep, hers where thin and jagged across the skin. Disappearing as she plunged her arms deep into the dinner filth.

Almost, he wanted to stop her. She was a guest and his was his job to take care of things, but her kindness made him smile so he let it go and pointed to the drying rack where she could place the dishes once she was done. She cleaned them slowly before putting them on the rack to dry, starting to hum the same classical melody along with the radio. The sound excited Alfred to hear coming from her lips, so soft and sweet. Sounding as though she'd heard it before and was quite found of it herself. And it was at that moment he found himself uttering the words: "would you care to dance, Miss?"

She threw up her head in question as though she hadn't heard him. Perhaps even, the notion of dancing was unknown to her. Though, once she gave him a reply it was he who was confused.

"Hm? Oh no, I don't know how to dance." Again her head was back towards the soapy riptides of the basin. Fingers working vigorously under the water where he could not see.

"Well surly someone as lovely as yourself has danced once or twice in her lifetime?" he inquired.

She smiled, his words peeking deep interest. "Are you flirting with me, Alfred?" she wondered.

"Indeed a am," he almost whispered. He couldn't deny it.

She smiled bigger, dropping the plate and cloth that were previously occupying her hands. She reached for his under the water where he pulled her hands into his before lifting the pair to the surface.

It was a simple one-two step waltz about the kitchen. Weaving through the counters and chairs that Alfred had set aside to give them more space. Their steps ever so little as Maria skilled herself in the art of moving her feet around with his. Going quicker as she got the hang of it and soon the pair of them were swaying together with laughter. Alfred twirled her around in a circle and couldn't help himself but lean her down and kiss her on the lips.

He pulled her up as she smiled against his breath, just about to apologise before she threw skinny arms around his neck and said:

"Now if you wanted to do that again... I wouldn't mind." Kissing him deeply he was thrown into love all over again.

Later that night, as he was reading before bed in the privacy of his bedroom, there was a knock at the door. The knob turned and the flickering flame of a candle peeked from around the corner held by dainty hands. He brightened without meaning to, straighten himself up and closed his novel respectively while he beckoned her inside where she made herself comfortable upon the edge of his bedside. Setting the candle on the nightstand he noticed there was already a drop of wax trailing down the shaft.

"What brings you in... Miss Kyle?" He slowed himself at the last part. Almost getting lost in her name while his eyes floated away in all the parts of her he found beauty. He regained himself well.

"Are you settling in well? Do you need something to drink?" He was almost up in a rush to find something that would aid her but her hands were faster.

"No, I'm alright," she waved. "I wanted to talk for a bit." Her eyes gazed down to his beside novel. A detective story, she gathered. The Word is Murder. "If your not busy."

He had to stop himself from smiling. Though, if he did he wouldn't be ashamed one bit. "No, I'm not busy at all."

He stared at her eyes but all she could look at was her hands. Slender fingers toying with the rings around them. Pulling them up to her knuckles and sliding them back down again. Here it is. He thought. _Another rejection._

"I see the way you look at me," she said with a smile. "Alfred, you're a sweet man but... I'm not who you think I am." She looked disappointed, still toying with her rings.

He was confused, lips and tongue articulating the only thing he could say. "Oh?"

"I'm a liar and a thief," she clarified. "I'm a bad mom. And you..." she motioned her hand towards the closed door. "look at all you've done for Bruce. He's a wonderful kid."

"I didn't raise him," Alfred said. "That was his mother and father. It was he who shaped who I am. And I am a better man for it, Miss."

"I've done things." she said. "I am things." She stared directly at him, "you're a nice man, Alfred. You deserve better then me."

"Miss K—"

"Maria," she corrected him. "Please, you can call me, Maria."

It was strange to think of her name across his lips. The sweet articulation of the letters on his tongue and he thought about the deep desire to be close to her. To hold her. To touch her. To do nothing but sweet and kind things to her. Then, he was beginning to realise what he was feeling for her were feelings he hadn't had in the longest time; after his first and only love had passed away before his eyes. But now, those feelings were there again and so real just as before, slowly piecing into realisation from the moment she'd hugged him and the flutter he felt in his chest. The wanting of something more.

But now the feeling was something else. Something almost familiar, right in the deepest pocket of his trousers. It came to him amongst the clouds in his mind, the fingers snaking inside his pocket. The feeling of fingers he could now recall, tightening around the silver shine of his fathers old watch. The one he bestowed to Alfred right before he passed away. He wanted to smiling, feeling her trying to steal it again, but he didn't, for he didn't want to give his knowledge away. So he let her have it as he stared into her green eyes and waited until she pulled the ticking clock from his possession, reached for it with tender fingers and grabbed on while wrapping the chain around his wrist. He half expected her to let go when he pulled, but half wanted her to hold on—which she did as he pulled the two of them together.

Her tongue tasted like alcohol. Wine, a deep red that had been hiding in the basement. A little too much, too. Like she'd snuck more then one glass over what she'd had with dinner. It was bitter, yet sweet. Sweeter with her fingers along his and the watch between their palms. The ticking measuring the seconds between them grew faint when Maria took the watch from his hand and instead of making off with it, put it aside on the nightstand. Now, taking his face with both hands she traced the wrinkles around his forehead and cheeks. She kissed each one.

As she kissed him her right hand slowly drifted away below the sheets where her fingers toyed with the leather belt around his trousers. Seemingly remembering a time in the back of her skull where belts served more of a purpose then just to hold pants up. But her hand was seized away quickly before she could finished the thought, feeling Alfred shift under her with a murmur, "I can't do that," thinking of Bruce and Selina.

Maria smiled against his lips, laughed just a little bit and agreed. "Neither can I," thinking of her HIV as she pulled her arms around his neck and kissed him harder. "Take this slow?" He nodded against her forehead.

"Should we turn out the light?"

She considered it for a second before reaching over and turning out just the lamp light, leaving the candle light lit. Then, she positioned her legs around his waist as she started to unbutton his vest and shirt. Taking her time to see the little hairs on his chest peek out, following the thick scars covering his abdomen. Jagged and mean, ugly and dark. The wounds of a man who would never tell, a reflection of the man he used to be.

And though they almost gave her pause she did not turn away and leave him alone as he secretly feared. Yet instead, she kissed each one, tracing the rest with her fingers. The delicacy of her touch made his breath go weak and he shivered as she counted them all the way down.

She kissed his chest and his neck, and when she pulled the clothing free from his shoulders he held her arms and started to kiss her face the same. She leaned into him while his lips touched her checks, her eyes, her forehead never realising the tears down her face until he kissed them too. A salty sweetness on his lips. Down her neck to her collarbone while his hands touched the skin under her shirt; black, soft cotton. And when he started to pull the fabric away her fingers snatched the hem and the soft feeling was gone. So was the passion when he opened his eyes and saw the dark, black bruises across her body. Indented deeply along her flesh under her breasts and across her stomach. He grew angry as he gripped onto her arm as softly as he could.

"Who did this," he wanted to know. "Who hurt you? Tell me," he demanded, his voice as tough as it was soft.

"No," she groaned. "Don't worry about it, it was no one." Taking his face again she tried to kiss him but he moved away.

"Somebody did this to you," he pushed.

"Please," she begged him. "I can't stay. So can we please just let this last? Just just you and me?" Desperate sounding as though her dream might end Maria had a gentle hand over his chest to keep him there. He put a hand against her back in their moment of silence; Maria did the same but instead of connecting her hand with his her fingers drifted upwards toward her bra strap. Nimble, she unclasped the hook, letting the straps fall off her shoulders with easy; swiftly taking one and tossing the garment onto the floor. She bit her lip. Her breasts hung over her chest as they naturally should, but once long ago didn't hang as low. Her belly, which used to be tight and thin from starving herself into starvation now had a tiny bit that sagged just a little from where her two children used to lay. And the scars mixed in between the bruises both self-inflicted and not now decorated skin that once was so perfect. Deep cuts marked in slashes along her skin were what Alfred saw. He touched her arm, noting the marks and bruising from an obvious drug habit, the blue veins that seemed to stick out, and the deep cut along her wrist from her last attempt. He traced it with his thumb and Maria finally pulled herself away, hiding behind her hand, ashamed.

She almost retreated the scene if it had not been for Alfred's kind hands that tucked a wave of her hair behind her ear. A pale yellow in the daytime, but a deep gold in the night. He touched her chin and encouraged her closer while snaking his arm along her wait. Kissing her again and drawing her form into his before then he used his leg to roll her around in the covers. Pressed against the soft sheets Maria snuggled while Alfred started over from her chin to her neck, along protruding collarbones and over her arms like landscapes. Touching the drug marks and the thick scar along her wrist to her fingers and every sliver ring she wore upon them. His hands traced along her breasts brushing beneath them with his thumb while his lips brushed her nipples causing her to react. Her fingers flew into his hair while he kissed her scars and navel. The toying she did with his scalp made him feel entirely relaxed; his shuttering breath made her smile. And when he regained himself he was back to kissing her belly... going lower.

"Is this alright, Miss," he mouthed against the waist of her jeans.

She smiled with laughter and bit her nail. "You always this polite?"

He started to undo the button on her jeans ignoring her little tease. Pulling the legs down slowly with tender care as he removed them and set them beside the bed. Then his fingers reached under the hips of her undergarments, and his eyes watched her as she swallowed deep.

"Alfred?" she said low.

"What?" he stopped himself.

"What are we doing?"

He looked at her with tired eyes and almost laughed. Smiled a tad and then sighed completely. "I think... we're enjoying each other company."

Maria grinned teasingly. "Well can't you enjoy my company from up here?" She beckoned him closer with her finger.

He crawled up to her, kissed her soft lips and pulled her against him, fitting the sheets over the two of them with a free hand.

"Can I be honest?" she whispered, as though she was afraid the kids would hear them.

"Of course." He kissed her temple, brushed back a bit of hair and looked deep into her eyes where weariness was sudden.

"I'm tired," she moaned, nuzzling under his chin.

"I can see that," she said. "You want to rest now?"

"Yes," she replied. "

"Can't be doing that anyway," he joked. "Too old, going to have a heart attack or something." He watched her lips part in a smile.

" _You're_ going I have a heart attack" she repeated mocking him. "I'm the one that's going to have a heart attack."

"These kids will make you age quick," Alfred joked. "I look after the pair of them."

"Wouldn't know," Maria murmured. Waiting the second Alfred had shut his unknowingly tried eyes and slipped free from his arms. She had awoken him suddenly but couldn't see for her back was turned to him while she slipped naked out of the remainder of her clothes. He could see thick marks along her back. Red lashes thrown along her shoulder blades and spine, his hands turned quickly into fists within the sheets having no where valuable to turn. She turned slowly and even through the candle's burning flame he could see the dark lines drawn against her legs and the flourish of public hair between them. He could see the piercing green of her eyes while she watched him watch her, which made him soften. The way she fluffed out our her long hair which came down to her breasts, their perfect dip and curve along her chest. Her silhouette entirely lovely against the window with shutters closed—he felt the familiar flutter in his chest.

She returned, scratching the silk sheets with her nails while Alfred reached for the buckle of his trousers before she brushed him away.

"Let me," she whispered.

"Someone hurt you..." he tried to say again.

"I'll make you a deal," she reasoned. "I'll tell you a story of mind if you tell me one of yours." Her fingernail traced one of the deep scars running from his abdomen to his waist. Shivers ran up his spine and back.

Leaning back he watch her easily pull the belt buckle from its place. "Controlling little thing, aren't you?" half-smiling as he observed, moving himself in a way to help her remove the belt. Which he noticed as she was trying to pull it free from his trouser straps.

"So tell me Alfred," his belt was free and to the floor with a loud clang. "Did anyone ever touch you... _inappropriately_?"

Her words came to him just as she was fondling with the button. He was confused at such an odd and bizarre question that he didn't notice when she was pulling the button from its loop, and that he had tripped over a memory so faint and stumbled over his own breath. He choked while she slowly pulled the button free and his trousers following suit. All the way down feeling his legs and toying with the follicles of hair about his body.

"Actually, Miss..." he words came out shaking in a way he couldn't control. She paused, just above the hair covering his pubic region. "With a broomstick," he clarified. And soon he felt the confession spilling out of him. He wanted to tell her everything.

He paused. Hand over her's to stop her from reacting as he continued.

"It was the butler from the neighbours. Seemly nice fellow for years. We were moving that day..." he kept his voice low and tried to posture himself, but Maria's tender touch against his skin caused him to settle back down onto the sheets. "I was six and he told me not to say anything. I ran home to my mum and pop and I didn't say anything. For forty-seven years I didn't breath a word. I never told a soul."

He realised it then how he'd begun crying with the tears chocking up the last bit of air he had. How Maria had pulled him close to suppress the sobbing that was suffocating him, but the tears rolled horribly in the memories of a six year old boy. And those tears coated her breasts making them glisten. Though his eyes were fixed too tight to see. His fingers digging in her waist, her teeth digging into her lip. Holding his breath and refusing to breath like he'd just been shot several times in the gut. Breathing was painful and he was afraid to cry out, for when he did he'd known there were more soft tears to follow. And the petting of his hair seemed like the screaming of many men, though when he opened his eyes he saw it was only Selina's Mother. Sweet, Maria petting the top of his head to sooth him like he was a child who'd awoken from a terrible nightmare. He breathed deep and found stillness.

"Better now?" she murmured from over him.

He nodded under her chin and tried to whisper the words: "I'm sorry," but they only seemed to come out clumsy.

"I'm sorry you felt you couldn't tell anyone," she finally said as she felt his fingers caress her back. Tracing the scars of her own and silence. She remembered each lashing and each dark, ugly mark every-time she looked in the mirror.

"They were just some friends," she whispered trying to keep up her end of the bargain. "Long ago, before Selina was ever born. They just liked to play... a little too rough."

He nuzzled his lips to her chin. "Is that right?"

"Every word," she leaned down.

"I gather you like it then." She smiled against his lips that were teasing her with those words. Feeling him shake in her arms but having the boldness to find jokes. Trying to be funny instead of the serious angry she knew he wanted to be. She would have laughed if sleep had not fallen so harshly over her.

"I like this a lot more," she said. He kissed her breasts some more, over to her shoulder and moving upward to her lips. She rubbed his calf full of muscle with her foot, touching the tender spots of her flesh with her fingers and tracing the battle scars of tissue with her nails. Finally hooking her left leg around his waist and rocking their bodies together.

"You're showing your age, old man," she teased.

He ignored her flirtatious joke, though, it didn't go unnoticed. "Lovely," he said finally brushing back her hair. His thumb brushed her cheek, finally reaching down for her hand which he caressed into his own before bringing it to his lips where he kissed her perfect fingers.

"You know..." Maria quipped, "you and I? It's a one time thing," she whispered dazzling against his tender affection. Just beyond the line of sleep she felt Alfred lean into her ear and whisper:

"Who says it has to be?"


	13. Selina's Suicide (Year Zero tie-in)

_[Part 1]_

 _Bruce Wayne:_

I _used to think the worst thing that ever happened to me was losing my parents. That it was the worst pain I'd feel my entire life. So driven by their untimely departure and swallowed by the cruelness of the world. Soaked in their blood from my hands. That was then, but I was foolish. I had no idea the world could be so cruel._

 _I used to believe I knew pain because deep inside I felt it made a home of me. Like a house of cards in an old dusty diner. The cards bent and burnt from fire, held by my creator's hands. Stacked up so high, but always trembling on the verge to collapse. Yes, I thought I once knew pain... but then the doctor told me Selina had tried to kill herself... and it was then that I realized I didn't know pain at all._

The _worst_ _kind of pain. A blow to the stomach so deep I couldn't even breath. I couldn't even imagine. Every punch, slap, or kick I and endured by the filthy hands of others was nothing compared to the numbing pain I felt in that moment. I knew then that the worst thing was not losing my mother and father, but what I had yet to lose. What I had gained in my parents' absence, during a time of so much loss and tragedy. My best friend, Selina_

 _...who screamed and I ran desperately to her. Because I thought she was in pain. Nothing but pain, from head to toe, racking her entire body in spasms. Yet, it was pain that I could not see. Pain I could only hear in her voice with the incomplete sentences of "I have no reason..." and "I can't..." but did not know the meanings behind either of them while her words were swallowed out by deep vulnerability and drugs. Pain I felt crushing on top of me from someone who could not hold themselves up. Pain buckling my knees beneath us while the doctors tried to ease her as I heard her whimpering in my ear. So ignorant to the finger-shaking reality of **pain**. _

_To think deep down in my shuttering chest how if **no one** had been there in time to stop her seconds before, how that pain would be greasing the tiles and smearing the floor. Blood everywhere, a river washing along my feet. I'd be stepping in it before I could even realize. I'd be at her side by the time it was too late. Covering her wounds and smearing the blood with my hands trying to stop it all. _

_All my fault._

 _Another to add to my collection of nightmares._

 _Those same beautiful eyes I've loved for years staring up at me._

 _A twinkle, for a second longer._

 _ **"She tried to kill herself."** _

_I can't even find the words, but I touch her gently as though it might be our last, and know, **vow** to her that I will do anything I possibly can to ease her of pain. Anything to keep her safe. And think, just a second more, how I'd come so close to losing my friend._


End file.
